VC^x-4*-\- 


V 


SRivcraibc  Coficgc  Ctaeeice 


>ir  <&atoatn  anfc  tfje  <§reett 


tfje 


TRANSLATED    AND    EDITED    BY 

K.  G.  T.  WEBSTER 

Assistant  Professor  of  English,  Harvard  University 
AND 

W.  A.  NEILSON 

President  of  Smitb  College 


HOUGHTON  MIFFLIN  COMPANY 

BOSTON      NEW  YORK     CHICAGO      SAN  FRANCISCO 

Cambrtbge 


COPYRIGHT,   1916  AND  1917, 
K.  O.  T.  WEBSTER  AND  W.  A.  NEU.SOM 

ALL  RIGHTS  RESERVED 


Cbt  fcttotrsfce  ®rttt 

CAMBRIDGE  .  MASSACHUSETTS 
PRINTED  IN  THE  U.S.  A 


CONTENTS 

INTRODUCTION 

I.  SIR  GAWAIN  AND  THE  GBEEN  K:«GHT v 

II.  PIEBS  THE  PLOUGHMAN ix 

SIB  GAWAIN  AND  THE  GREEN  KNIGHT 1 

THE  VISION  OF  WILLIAM   CONCERNING  PIERS  THE  PLOUGHMAN  80 


SRL6 
URC 


INTRODUCTION 

I.  Sm  GAWAIN  AND  THE  GREEN  KNIGHT 

Sir  Gawain  and  the  Green  Knight  is  the  finest  representative  of  a  great  cycle  of 
verse  romances  devoted  wholly  or  principally  to  the  adventures  of  Gawain.  Of 
these  there  still  survive  in  English  a  dozen  or  so;  in  French  —  the  tongue  in  which 
romance  most  flourished  —  seven  or  eight  more;  and  these,  of  course,  are  but  a 
fraction  of  what  must  once  have  existed.1  No  other  knight  of  the  Round  Table 
occupies  anything  like  so  important  a  place  as  Gawain  in  the  literature  of  the  middle 
ages.  He  is  the  first  mentioned  of  Arthur's  knights,  for  about  1125,  ten  years  before 
Geoffrey  of  Monmouth  dazzled  the  world  with  his  revelation  of  King  Arthur, 
William  of  Malmesbury  in  his  Chronicle  of  the  Kings  of  England  had  told  of  the  dis- 
covery of  Gawain's  tomb  in  Ross,  Wales,  and  had  described  him  as  Arthur's  nephew 
and  worthy  second.  In  all  the  early  romances  Gawain  is  peerless  for  utter  courage 
and  courtesy.  Where  other  knights  quailed,  Gawain  was  serene;  where  other 
champions  were  beaten,  Gawain  won;  and  where  no  resolution,  strength,  or  skill 
could  avail,  Gawain  succeeded  by  his  kindness,  his  virtue,  and  his  charming  speech. 
The  strange  knight  in  the  Squire's  Tale  gave  his  message  so  politely,  says  Chaucer, 

"That  Gawain  with  his  olde  curteisye 
Though  he  were  come  ageyn  out  of  Fairye 
Ne  coude  him  nat  amende  with  a  word." 

But  in  time  other  heroes  became  more  popular  than  he,  and  in  some  of  the  French 
prose  romances  of  the  thirteenth  century  Gawain's  character  was  defaced  that  others 
might  appear  to  excel  him;  and  Malory  in  his  Morte  Darthur  (c.  1470),  which  is  based 
chiefly  upon  these  later  French  romances,  and  Tennyson  in  his  Idylls  of  the  King, 
which  in  turn  is  mostly  based  on  Malory,  have  unfortunately  perpetuated  the 
debased  portrait.  To  get  a  glimpse  of  the  real  Gawain  one  should  read,  besides  our 
piece,  such  romances  as  the  Carl  of  Carlisle,*  Golagros  and  Gawain,9  The  Wedding  of 
Sir  Gawain,*  the  Mule  Sans  Frein 8  and  the  episodes  in  Miss  Weston's  Sir  Gawain 
at  the  Grail  Castle,  and  Sir  Gawain  and  the  Lady  of  Lys,  in  the  attractive  little  series 
of  Arthurian  Romances  Unrepresented  in  Malory's  Morte  d' Arthur.* 

Gawain  and  the  Green  Knight  has  been  preserved  to  us,  like  many  another  precious 

1  The  English  romances  were  first  collected  by  Sir  Frederick  Madden  in  his  Syr  Oawayne,  edited  for  the  Bannatyne 
Club  in  1839;  the  French  have  been  described  by  G.  Paris  in  the  Hittoire  Littfraire  de  la  France,  vol.  xxx,  pp.  29-103. 
Nothing  like  a  complete  study  of  Gawain  has  been  made;  the  best  accounts  available  are  those  of  Miss  J.  L.  Weston 
in  her  Sir  Gawain,  London,  1897;  of  Schofield,  English  Literature  from  the  Norman  Conquest  to  Chaucer,  p.  124;  of 
Nutt  in  the  new  Encyclopedia  Britanniea  under  "Gawain  ";  and  of  J.  E.  Wells  in  his  recent  Manual  of  the  tt'ritinai 
tn  Middle  English,  p.  51. 

*  Edited  by  Madden,  Syr  Oawayne,  p.  185;  fiishnp  Percy's  Folio  Manutcript,  ed.  Hales  and  Furnivall,  vol.  in,  p.  875. 

*  Ed.  Madden,  p.  129,  and  Amours,  Scottish  Alliterative  Poemt,  Scottish  Text  Society,  1897.  „  , 
'  Madden,  p.  297;  Bishop  Percy's  Folio  Manuscript,  vol.  i,  p.  103. 

*  Edited  Meon,  Noweau  Recited  de  Fabliaux  et  Cunies,  1823,  vol.  i,  p.  1;  B.  T.  Hill,  Baltimore,  1911;  Orlowiki, 
Paris,  1911. 

«  London,  1903  and  1907. 


INTRODUCTION 


work  —  for  example  Beowulf  —  by  a  single  lucky  manuscript,  Cotton  Nero  A.  X. 
of  the  British  Museum.  It  is  found  there  along  with  three  other  remarkable  poems 
of  the  same  dialect  and  style,  all  in  the  same  handwriting;  and  naturally  the  four 
pass  as  the  work  of  one  author,  although  not  all  scholars  are  agreed  on  this  point. 
These  three  are  Pearl  (1212  lines),  a  highly  finished  elegy  in  an  elaborate  stanza,  a 
masterpiece  of  delicate  beauty  and  craftsmanship;  Patience,  and  Cleanness  (or 
Purity),  of  500  and  1800  lines  respectively,  both  written  in  the  most  powerful  and 
highly  colored  alliterative  verse,  the  former  telling  the  story  of  Jonah,  the  latter  of 
Belshazzar's  feast  and  fate.1 

These  poems  are  the  artistic  culmination  of  what  is  called  the  alliterative  revival 
of  the  fourteenth  century  hi  England,  the  best-known  example  of  which  is  Piers  the 
Ploughman.  Other  splendid  pieces,  worthy  to  stand  beside  these,  are  Winner  and 
Waster,  The  Parliament  of  Three  Ages,  and  the  Thornton  Morte  Arthure.*  It  is  a  sur- 
prising and  not  well-explained  phenomenon  that  after  two  centuries  or  so  of  the 
short-lined,  rhyming  verse  in  stanzas  or  in  couplets  such  as  the  young  Chaucer 
wrote  —  which  is  generally  considered  to  be  of  French  origin  —  there  should  sud- 
denly appear  a  great  bulk  of  poetry  in  the  archaic  unrhymed  style  of  the  Anglo- 
Saxons.  The  great  peculiarity  of  this  verse  is  alliteration,  the  repeating  of  the  same 
letter  or  sound  at  the  beginning  of  several  words  in  a  line  —  a  device  which  has 
never  been  given  up  in  English  poetry.  A  characteristic  Anglo-Saxon  line  is,  — 

"JFadan  ofer  wealdas;  umdu  baer  sunu." 
To  wade  over  the  wolds;  the  son  bare  the  wood. 

Any  vowel  could  alliterate  with  any  other,  thus,  — 

"  Jnnan  ond  utan  tren-bendum." 
Inside  and  outside  with  iron-bands. 

The  chief  accent  fell  on  the  alliterative  syllables,  of  which  there  could  be  three,  as  in 
the  examples  given,  or  two  —  these  being  the  commonest  types;  or  four,  or  none  — 
these  rarer.  The  number  of  unaccented  syllables  was  immaterial;  but  a  line  con- 
sisted normally  of  four  feet,  with  a  csesural  pause  in  the  middle.  In  our  poem  we  find 
somewhat  the  same  conventions,  as  in  line  3,  — 

"The  tulk  that  the  trammes  of  tresoun  there  wrought"; 
and  line  27,  — 

"For-thi  an  aunter  in  erde  I  attle  to  schawe." 

In  our  piece  groups  of  such  lines  are  concluded  by  an  odd  phrase  and  a  little  rhyming 
stanza  of  five  lines,  often  called  a  "bob  and  a  wheel."  This  poetry  was  dignified, 

i  The  only  easily  accessible  edition  of  Gaicain  and  the  Green  Knight  is  that  of  R.  Morris  for  the  Early  English  Text 
Society  in  1864  —  revised  edition  by  Gollancz  in  1897.  Translations  have  been  published  by  Miss  Jessie  L.  Weston, 
Sir  Gawain  and  the  Green  Knight,  in  Arthurian  Romances  Unrepresented  in  Malory'i  Morte  d' Arthur,  London,  1898, 
in  prose;  and  in  Romance,  Vision,  and  Satire,  Boston,  1912,  in  verse;  by  E.  J.  B.  Kirtlan,  London,  1912;  and  by  C.  M. 
Lewis,  New  Haven,  Conn.,  1913  —  the  last  a  very  free,  entertaining  fantasy  on  the  original  theme.  The  other  three 
poems  were  edited  by  Morris  for  the  Early  English  Text  Society  in  Early  English  Alliterative  Poemt,  1864  (several 
subsequent  editions).  Pearl  has  been  well  edited,  with  a  valuable  introduction,  by  C.  6.  Osgood  in  tht  Belief  Lettrn 
Strict,  1906;  and  by  I.  Gollancz,  London,  1907;  Patience  by  H.  Bateson,  Manchester,  1912. 

•  The  first  two  were  edited  together  by  Gollancz  for  the  Roxburgbe  Club  in  1897;  the  Parliament,  separately, 
Oxford,  1915;  the  Morte  Arthure  by  Perry  and  Brock  for  the  Early  English  Text  Society,  and  by  Mis*  M.  M.  Banks, 
London,  1900;  translation  of  the  last  by  A.  Boyle  in  Everyman's  Library. 


INTRODUCTION  vii 


strong,  resonant,  and  in  skillful  hands  apt  for  stirring  deeds  and  rich,  highly  colored 
description;  but  it  was  the  alliteration,  probably,  which  tempted  to  use  words  in  a 
forced  sense,  and  to  invent  odd  and  fanciful  terms  —  at  any  rate,  these  northern  and 
Scottish  poets  were  very  much  given  to  that  sort  of  thing.  Of  course,  the  fact  that 
they  wrote  with  extreme  virtuosity  in  a  richly  worded  dialect,  strange  to  us  heirs  of 
a  more  southern  speech,  has  much  to  do  with  this  effect.  This  poetry  flourished 
chiefly  in  the  north.  Chaucer,  naturally,  was  familiar  with  it,  and  makes  his  parson 
say,— 

"  But  trusteth  wel,  I  am  a  Southren  man, 
I  can  nat  geste  —  rum,  ram,  ruf  — •  by  lettre, 
Ne,  God  wot,  rym  holde  I  but  litel  bettre; " 

which  rather  sounds  as  if  Chaucer  had  meant  to  have  an  alliterative  poem  precede 
the  Parson's  Tale.1 

Our  romance,  and  the  rich  field  of  folklore  within  which  it  lies  have  recently  been 
made  the  subject  of  a  penetrating  study  by  Professor  G.  L.  Kittredge,1  whose  main 
results  may  be  thus  summarized.  Gawain  and  the  Green  Knight  is  doubtless,  like 
the  great  majority  of  mediaeval  English  romances,  a  translation  from  the  French, 
although  the  French  original  is  now  lost.  To  the  author  of  this  French  poem  is  due 
the  happy  combination  of  two  fine  old  widely  current  stories.  One  of  these,  the 
"Challenge,"  can  be  traced  back  to  an  elaborate  Irish  version  of  the  year  1000  or 
earlier  —  the  manuscript  containing  it,  the  celebrated  Book  of  the  Dun  Cow,  was 
written  about  1100.  In  this  a  supernatural  being  with  a  replaceable  head  tests  the 
hero's  courage  much  as  he  does  in  our  poem.  In  the  other,  the  "Temptation,"  the 
chosen  hero,  by  resisting  the  seductive  lady,  is  enabled  to  free  the  lady's  husband 
from  an  enchantment.  Both  these  tales  occur  separately  in  mediaeval  romances, 
the  former  in  the  Book  of  Caradoc  —  a  continuation  of  Chretien's  Percival,9  the  Mule 
Sans  Frein,  Perlesvaus,4  and  Humbaut,6  the  latter  in  the  Carl  of  Carlisle,  the  Chevalier 
d  l'£p£e,*  and  elsewhere.  The  work  of  the  brilliant  French  combiner  was,  like 
numerous  other  French  Arthurian  romances  of  his  period,  a  well-constructed  and 
pellucid  narrative.  It  did  not  attain  the  moral  depth  of  our  poem,  where  Gawain's 
virtues,  the  elaborateness  and  keenness  of  his  temptation,  and  his  repentance  for 
his  slight  fault,  are  more  powerfully  set  forth.  There  is  no  reason  to  suppose  that 
the  beautiful  descriptions  of  wild  nature  were  in  the  French  poem;  and  very  likely 
the  arming  of  the  hero  and  the  hunting  were  less  elaborated  there.  It  seems  probable, 
too,  that  our  author  has  changed  the  motivation  and  the  ending  of  the  story;  for  in 
his  original  it  would  be  natural  to  suppose  from  the  analogues  that  the  Green  Knight 
enticed  Gawain  to  his  castle  in  order  that  this  greatest  of  heroes  might  rid  him  of 
his  strange  hue  and  giant  form,  and  that,  after  Gawain  had  succeeded,  the  disen- 
chanted knight  accompanied  him  to  Arthur's  Court. '  The  English  author  gave  this 
up,  and  invented  another  and  weaker  motivation,  based  on  the  well-known  hatred  of 
Morgan  la  Fay  for  Queen  Guinevere.  It  is  the  only  blemish  in  the  otherwise  faultless 

1  A  learned  discu.ision  of  alliterative  verse  may  be  found  in  J.  Schipper's  IHttory  of  Engliah  Verification,  Oxford, 
1910,  chapters  n  and  in. 
1  Cambridge,  Harvard  University  Press,  1910.  '  Edited  Potvin,  Perceval,  vol.  in,  p.  117. 

•  Ditto,  vol.  i.  I  Edited  StUninger  and  Breuer,  Dresden,  1914. 

•  Edited  Meon,  1, 127;  E.  C.  Armstrong,  Baltimore,  1900. 


viii  INTRODUCTION 


construction  that  the  reason  here  assigned  for  the  Green  Knight's  visit  to  Arthur's 
Court  is  Morgan's  desire  to  frighten  Guinevere  out  of  her  wits. 

Another  English  version  of  our  tale  is  found  in  Bishop  Percy's  Folio  Manuscript. 
This  is  a  late  romance  of  516  lines,  in  six-line  stanzas  like  the  following:  — 

"He  had  a  lady  to  his  wiffe, 
He  loved  her  deerlye  as  his  liffe, 
She  was  both  blyth  and  blee; 
Because  Sir  Gawaine  was  stiffe  in  stowre 
She  loved  him  privilye  paramour, 
And  she  never  him  see." 

Most  scholars  regard  the  Ballad  Green  Knight,  as  it  is  often  called,  as  a  mere 
working-over  of  the  alliterative  romance;  but  because  the  author  of  it  has  reverted 
to  a  better  and  older  sort  of  motivation  —  i.e.,  the  love  of  the  Green  Knight's  wife  for 
Gawain  —  and  because  he  has  likewise  restored  the  presumably  older  features  of  the 
Green  Knight's  becoming  one  of  the  Round  Table,  and  for  other  reasons,  some  hold 
that  the  Battad  Green  Knight  is  derived  from  a  form  of  the  story  older  than  our 
romance;  and  that  in  this  older  form  the  Green  Knight's  wife  was  a  fairy,  who  for 
love  of  Gawain  lured  him  to  the  other- world  by  this  odd  heading  adventure.1 

It  is  also  said  in  the  Ballad  Green  Knight  that  it  is  because  of  this  adventure  of 
Gawain's  that  the  Knights  of  the  Bath  wear  a  lace  about  the  neck  until  they  have 
won  their  spurs,  or  a  lady  takes  it  off.  And  after  the  alliterative  romance  in  our 
manuscript  follows  the  motto  of  the  Knights  of  the  Garter  —  "Hony  soyt  qui  mal 
pence."  Obviously,  then,  there  has  always  been  an  effort  to  connect  Gawain's  green 
lace  with  some  chivalrous  order  in  England,  and  such  efforts  still  continue;  but  as 
yet  it  has  not  been  made  to  seem  very  probable  that  the  writer  of  the  present  poem 
had  in  mind  anything  of  the  kind.1 

Of  our  author  we  know  only  what  can  be  deduced  from  his  works.  He  must  have 
been  a  native  of  Lancashire  or  thereabouts,  since  he  employs  the  North- West  Mid- 
land dialect,  as  it  is  called,  and  since  he  describes  with  so  much  accuracy  and  gusto 
the  wild  scenery  of  the  three  north-western  counties  of  England.  None  but  a  person 
truly  religious  could  have  written  a  poem  informed  with  so  lofty  a  moral  tone. 
Perhaps  no  other  writer  of  his  age  could  have  pictured  the  scenes  between  Gawain 
and  the  lady  without  having  them  border  either  on  the  luscious  or  the  coarse.  And 
only  a  man  conversant  with  the  highest  society  of  his  time,  a  man  who  had  seen  the 
world,  could  describe  with  such  loving  wealth  of  detail  the  knightly  trappings,  the 
merry  evenings  at  the  castle,  and  the  stirring  hunts.  More  elaborate  guesses  about 
his  personality  may  be  found  hi  the  editions  of  Gollancz  and  Bateson.  His  work 
appears  to  fall  within  the  third  quarter  of  the  fourteenth  century,  a  time  when  a 
great  number  of  French  romances  were  being  translated  into  English,  and  when 
Wy cliff e,  Gower,  Chaucer,  and  Langland  were  flourishing. 

K.  G.  T.  WEBSTEB. 

» 

i  This  theory  is  set  forth  by  Mr.  3.  B.  Hulbert  in  Modern  Philology,  vol.  Mil,  pp.  49  and  113. 
»  The  latest  protagonist  of  this  theory  is  Mr.  Isaac  Jackson  in  Anglia,  vol.  JUtxvn,  p.  393.  The  whole  question 
u  sensibly  reviewed  by  Mr.  Hulbert  in  the  last  portion  of  his  article. 


INTRODUCTION  ix 


n.  PIERS  THE  PLOUGHMAN 

The  Vision  of  William  concerning  Piers  the  Ploughman  is  one  of  the  most  extraor- 
dinary productions  in  English  Literature.  Of  uncertain  authorship,  and  com- 
posed and  revised  at  different  times,  it  was  based  on  no  single  model.  Confused  and 
intricate  in  structure,  belonging  as  a  whole  to  no  one  literary  type,  it  yet  ranks  with 
the  work  of  the  methodical  and  voluminous  Gower,  and  almost  with  that  of  Chaucer, 
as  a  contribution  to  the  understanding  of  the  England  of  the  fourteenth  century. 


The  poem  exists  in  forty-five  known  manuscripts1  which  differ  greatly  among 
themselves.  The  variations  are  due  in  the  first  place  to  the  fact  that  the  work  was 
revised  and  extended  on  a  large  scale  at  least  twice,  and  it  is  customary  to  distin- 
guish three  main  versions:  A,  written  about  1362  (2567  lines);  B,  about  1377  (7242 
lines);  and  C,  aboui  1393  or  1398-1399  (7357  lines).  But  the  manuscripts  are  far 
from  falling  neatly  into  these  three  groups.  Not  only  do  the  last  four  passus  or 
cantos  of  A  seem  to  have  been  written  later  than  the  prologue  and  the  first  eight, 
and  the  last  part  of  the  twelfth  by  a  certain  John  But,  but  many  manuscripts  repre- 
sent either  intermediate  revisions  or  contamination  of  earlier  with  later  versions. 

Whether  the  original  author  is  responsible  for  the  revisions  and  additions  is  still 
a  matter  of  controversy,  the  solution  of  which  is  made  harder  by  the  difficulty  of 
arriving  at  a  pure  text  of  the  several  versions.  The  view  commonly  accepted  until  a 
few  years  ago  is  that  represented  by  Skeat  in  the  Introduction  of  his  Oxford  edition 
and  by  Jusserand  in  his  Piers  Plowman  (1894).2  These  scholars  regard  B  and  C  as 
later  revisions  by  the  same  author  who  composed  A,  and  they  explain  the  changes  in 
style  and  mode  of  thought  as  due  to  the  maturing  or  decay  of  his  powers.  The 
opposed  view,  brought  into  prominence  by  Manly  in  bis  article  in  the  Cambridge 
History  of  English  Literature  in  1908,  regards  the  work  as  it  now  stands  as  showing 
five  hands:  (1)  A,  prologue  and  passus  1-8;  (2)  A,  passus  9-12,  lines  1-56;  (3)  A, 
passus  12,  lines  57  to  end  (John  But) ;  (4)  revision  of  A  resulting  in  B;  (5)  revision  of 
B  resulting  in  C.3 

The  arguments  by  which  these  contrary  opinions  are  supported  are  intricate  and 
varied,  and  cannot  be  explained  without  an  elaborate  analysis  of  the  whole  work. 
The  part  of  the  poem  (or  collection  of  poems),  however,  which  is  printed  in  the 
present  volume  is  generally  agreed  to  represent  the  work  in  its  first  form,  and  can 
be  studied  without  reference  to  the  problems  raised  by  the  continuations.  More- 
over, these  first  two  thirds  of  A  are  complete  in  themselves,  and  are  distinctly  superior 
to  the  later  parts  hi  structure  and  coherence. 

The  authorship  of  the  poem  is  as  uncertain  as  the  history  of  its  growth.  The 
traditional  ascription  of  it  to  a  William  Langland  is  based  on  notes  written  on  vari- 

1  Described  by  Skeat  in  his  edition  of  the  poem  for  the  Early  English  Text  Society,  and  in  vol.  n  of  his  large 
Clarendon  Press  edition,  1886.  Thu  edition  contains  all  three  texts.  The  work  was  first  printed  in  1550  by  Robert 
Crowley. 

>  Translated  by  M.  E.  R.  from  Let  Anglaii  an  Moyen  Aye :  I'tpopte  myitique  de  William  Langland,  by  J.  J. 
Jusserand,  Paris,  1893. 

•  For  the  main  arguments  on  both  side*  of  the  question,  tee  The  Fieri  Plowman  Controterty,  Early  English  Text 
Society,  Original  Series,  Extra  Issue  139,  London,  1910  (published,  1918). 


INTRODUCTION 


ous  fifteenth-century  manuscripts  of  the  B  and  C  texts,  but  these  are  not  consistent 
with  one  another,  one  giving  the  name  as  "Robert  or  William  Langland,"  one  as 
"  Willelmus  de  Langland,"  other  three  as  "Willelmus  W."  It  has  been  customary  to 
clothe  this  shadow  of  a  name  with  details,  presumed  to  be  autobiographical,  drawn 
from  the  poem  itself.  But  it  is  practically  certain  that  these  details  and  the  figure  of 
the  dreamer,  Long  Will,  who  has  been  identified  with  Langland,  are  merely  parts 
of  the  fiction,  and  are  of  no  value  as  biographical  evidence.1  It  is  therefore  no  longer 
necessary  to  encumber  our  memories  with  statements  as  to  dates  and  places,  since 
such  statements  have  no  real  historical  basis. 

II 

Piers  Plowman,  to  use  the  common  short  title,  is  written  in  the  alliterative  verse 
which  had  been  the  customary  medium  of  Anglo-Saxon  poetry,  and  which,  as  ex- 
plained in  the  introduction  to  Sir  Gawain  and  the  Green  Knight,  had  a  period  of 
revival  in  the  fourteenth  century.  The  language,  however,  is  closer  to  normal 
fourteenth-century  English  than  that  of  most  contemporary  alliterative  poems.  The 
author,  indeed,  was  at  times  led  to  avoid  the  obvious  word  by  the  necessities  of 
metre,  but  the  absence  of  the  additional  difficulties  of  an  intricate  stanza  relieved 
him  from  a  pressure  that  did  much  to  render  the  work  of  his  fellows  contorted  and 
obscure.  The  present  modernization  attempts  to  retain  as  far  as  possible  the  alliter- 
ative and  accentual  characteristics  of  the  original. 

In  purpose  the  poem  is  didactic  and  satiric;  in  form  it  is  a  series  of  allegorical 
visions.  The  author  seeks  to  expose  the  sins  and  abuses  of  his  time,  and  to  instill  the 
religious  principles  which  would  reform  these,  both  in  the  individual  and  in  society. 
Any  work  with  such  an  aim  is  likely  to  emphasize  the  darker  side  of  human  nature, 
and  this  has  to  be  kept  in  mind  in  using  Piers  Plowman  as  a  document  for  the  history 
of  society.  Though  a  severe  critic  of  social  and  ecclesiastical  conditions,  the  poet 
cannot  be  regarded  as  a  radical  innovator  with  respect  to  institutions.  He  not  only 
accepts  the  division  of  society  into  classes,  but  finds  the  reform  of  abuses  to  lie  in 
each  man's  doing  his  duty  in  that  sphere  of  life  in  which  God  has  placed  him.  The 
laborer  is  not  urged  to  seek  to  rise  above  his  class;  and  when  the  knight  offers  to 
learn  to  plough,  Piers  recommends  him  to  attend  to  his  knight's  business  —  to  pro- 
tect the  church,  to  treat  his  tenants  and  workmen  well,  to  keep  down  the  game  that 
destroy  farmers'  crops,  and  to  avoid  dissipation.  The  author,  though  a  reformer,  is 
no  leveler,  and  his  gospel  is  a  gospel  of  work. 

Structurally,  the  original  poem  consists  of  two  visions,  divided  by  a  few  lines  in 
which  the  dreamer  awakes  and  falls  asleep  again.  This  device  is  an  extremely  com- 
mon one  in  allegory,  and  serves  the  obvious  purpose  of  affording  a  transition  to  a 
world  of  symbols,  serving  notice  that  realistic  standards  of  probability  are  not  to  be 
applied.  Common,  too,  is  the  figure  of  the  interpreter,  represented  in  the  first  vision 
by  Holy  Church,  who  explains  the  allegorical  signification  of  the  dream.  Our  author, 
however,  avails  himself  of  her  services  for  a  short  time  only. 

The  opening  scene  of  the  first  vision  presents  allegorically  this  world  as  a  field 
lying  between  heaven  and  hell.  It  is  populated  by  specimens  of  various  classes,  all 

i  See  A.  E.  Jack,  "The  Autobiographical  Elements  in  Piers  Plowman,"  Journal  of  Germanic  Philology,  vol.  m, 
pp.  393-414. 


INTRODUCTION  a 


engaged  in  characteristic  occupations.  The  only  personification  here  is  Holy  Church, 
who  introduces  the  main  action  of  the  first  vision,  the  marriage  of  Meed.  In  this  the 
allegorical  element  is  much  more  prominent,  and  involves  both  action  and  actors. 
The  attempt  to  marry  Meed  to  Falsehood  signifies  the  effort  to  make  permanent 
the  corrupt  use  of  money,  and  the  counter-proposal  to  marry  her  to  Conscience 
signifies  the  establishing  of  a  system  of  just  rewards. 

The  second  vision  (v-vn)  has  two  parts;  one  in  which  Conscience  and  Repentance 
preach  so  effectively  as  to  bring  about  the  conversion  of  a  series  of  characters  typi- 
fying the  seven  deadly  sins;1  the  other  in  the  form  of  a  pilgrimage  to  seek  Truth.  In 
the  former  the  delineation  of  the  shiners  gives  occasion  for  the  most  vivid  picturing 
of  contemporary  manners  to  be  found  in  any  of  the  versions  of  the  poem,  that  of 
the  Glutton  being  especially  notable.  In  the  latter  the  device  of  the  allegorical  pil- 
grimage, already  familiar  in  French  literature  and  destined  to  produce  three  hundred 
years  later  the  greatest  of  English  religious  allegories,  is  probably  used  for  the  first 
time  in  English.  In  the  course  of  the  pilgrimage  another  convention  is  introduced 
—  an  allegorical  castle  with  personifications  in  charge  of  the  various  offices. 

But  though  the  main  structure  is  that  of  the  allegorical  vision,  there  are  many 
passages  which  are  not  allegorical  at  all.  Some  of  these  consist  of  direct  realistic 
description  of  human  nature  or  social  conditions,  others  are  long  religious  or  moral 
discussions.  Though  these  last  at  times  become  wearisome,  they  are  all  interesting 
to  the  student  of  the  thought  of  the  time;  and  no  less  than  the  more  vivid  pictures 
are  they  suffused  with  the  intense  earnestness  and  sincerity  which  lift  this  poem 
to  a  distinguished  place  in  satirical  and  didactic  literature. 

W.  A.  NEILSON. 

>  Wrath  is  missing;  as  Manly  supposes,  by  an  accident  to  the  manuscript.  He  is  present  in  B  and  C. 


SYR  GAWAYN  AND  THE  GRENE  KNYJT* 

[FYTTE  THE  FIRST] 
I 

Sl)>EN2  pe  sege  &  }>e  assaut  watj  sesed  at  Troye, 
\>e  bor$  brittened  &  brent  to  brondej  &  askej, 
pe  tulk  )>at  )>e  trammes  of  tresoun  Jw  wrojt, 
Watj  tried  for  his  tricherie,  }>e  trewest  on  erthe  ; 
Hit  watj  Ennias  ]?e  athel,  &  his  bighe  kynde, 
bat  sif>eu  depreced  prouinces,8  &  patrounes  bicome 
Welneje  of  al  ]>e  wele  in  J>e  west  iles, 
Fro  riche  Romulus  to  Rome  riccbis  bym  swy]>e, 
WftA  gret  bobbaunce  }'at  burje  he  biges  vpon  fyrst, 
&  neuenes  hit  his  aune  nome,  as  hit  now  hat ; 
Ticius  (turnes)  to  Tuskan,  &  teldes  bigynnes  ; 
Langaberde  in  Lumbardie  lyftes  vp  homes  ; 
&  fer  over  J>e  French  flod  Felix  Brutus 
On  mony  bonkkes  ful  brode  Bretayu  he  settej, 
wyth  wynne  ;* 

Where  werre,  &  wrake,  &  wonder, 

Bi  syj^ej  hatj  wont  Jw-inne, 

&  oft  bope  blysse  &  blunder 

Ful  skete  hat)  skyf ted  synne. 

II 

Ande  quen*  J>is  Bretayn  watj  bigged  bi  J?is  burn  rych, 
Belde  breddeu  J>er-inne,  baret  ]>at  lofden, 
In  mony  turned*  tyme  tene  )>at  wrojten  ; 
Mo  ferlyes  on  f>is  folde  ban  fallen  here  oft 
ten  in  any  o\er  fat  I  wot,  syn  f>at  ilk  tyme. 
But  of  alle  J'at  here  bult  of  Bretaygne  kynges 
Ay  watj  Arthur  JJG  hendest,  as  I  haf  berde  telle  ; 
For-]>i  an  aunter  in  erde  I  attle  to  schawe, 
pat  a  selly  in  sijt  summe  men  hit  holden, 
&  an  outtrage  awenture  of  Arthurej  wotiderej, 
If  je  wyl  lysten  J>is  laye  bot  on  littel  quile, 
1  schal  telle  hit,  as-tit,  as  I  in  toun  herde, 
with  tonge  ; 

As  bit  is  stad  &  stoken, 

In  stori  stif  &  stronge, 

With  lei  letteres  loken,8 

In  londe  so  hat;  ben  longe. 

>  The  symbol  3  is  the  Anglo-Saxon  form  of  <7,  and  Is  a  modification  of  the  Latin  letter.  It  was  retained  by  Inter 
scribe*  principally  for  the  guttural  gh  an  in  latent,  for  the  y-sonnd  at  the  beginning  of  a  word,  as  in  yl,  and  for  the 
final  z-sound,  as  in  aikf^.  The  sp<-lling8  irat^,  /uity  for  u-m  and  hut  are  peculiar. 

*  J>  Is  the  Anglo-Saxon  symbol  for  M,  which  lasted  till  the  15th  century,  and  as  y  till  later  —  e.  g.,  in  ye  =•  the, 
It  is  the  old  rune  "  thorn."        *  u  and  v,  originally  the  same  symbol,  are  both  written  ». 

4  These  "  bobs  "  especially,  and  the  rhyming  4-line  "  wheel  "  at  the  end  of  the  stanzas,  are  often  almost  mean- 
tnglen,  and  difficult  to  tramilate.  •  The  qu  is  the  Northern  way  of  writing  Anglo-Saxon  Air,  our  »rA. 

•  Such  "  conceited,"  "precious  "  or  far-fetched  terms  and  tags  are  characteristic  of  the  later  alliterative  verse. 


SYR  GAWAYN  AND  THE  GRENE  KNY3T 


in 

kyng  lay  at  Camylot  vpon  kryst-masse, 
ith  niony  luilych  lorde,  ledej  of  }'e  best, 
Rekenly  of  ]>e  rounde  table  alle  J>o  rich  brefer, 
WitA  rych  reuel  ory}t,  &  rechles  merfes; 
ber  tourneyed  tulkes  bi-tyme}  ful  mouy, 
Justed  ful  JoUle*  fyse  gyntyle  knijtes, 
Syfen  kayred  to  fe  court,  caroles  to  make. 
For  fer  f  e  fest  wat}  ilyche  ful  lif  ten  dayes 
With  alle  fe  mete  &  J>e  mirfe  fat  men  coufe  a-vyse; 
Such  glaumande  gle  glorious  to  here, 
Dere  dyn  vp-on  day,  daunsyng  on  nyjtes, 
Al  wat}  hap  upon  heje  in  halle}  &  chambre}, 
With  lordej  &  ladies,  as  leuest  him  fO}t; 
With  all  f  e  wele  of  f  e  worlde  fay  woned  }>er  samen, 
be  most  kyd  knyjtes  vnder  krystcs  seluen, 
&  ]'e  louelokkest  ladies  }'at  euer  lif  haden, 
&  he  J>e  comlokest  kyng  f>at  f>e  court  haldes; 
For  al  wat}  pis  fayre  folk  in  her  first  age, 
on  sille; 

le  hapnest  vnder  henen, 

Kyng  hyjest  naon  of  wylle, 

Hit  were  now  gret  nye  to  neaen 

So  hardy  a  here  on  hille. 

IV 

Wyle  nw  }er  wat;  so  jep  }>at  hit  wat  nwe  cummen, 
bat  day  doubble  on  f>e  dece  watj  J>e  douth  serued, 
Fro  f>e  kyng  wat}  cummen  with  kn}t€s  in  to  J>e  hallgj 
be  chauntre  of  ]>e  chapel  cheued  to  an  ende; 
Loude  crye  wat}  J>er  kest  of  clerke}  &  oj>er, 
Nowel  nayted  o-newe,  neuened  ful  ofte; 
&  syfen  riche  forth  runnen  to  reche  honde-selle, 
3e}ed  }eres  }iftes  on  hi},  }elde  hem  bi  bond, 
Debated  busyly  aboute  f>o  giftes; 
Ladies  la}ed  ful  loude,  ]'<>  ]'a y  lost  haden, 
&  he  f>at  wan  wat}  not  worth,  ]>at  may  }e  wel  trawe. 
Alle  )>is  mirj>e  fay  maden  to  J>e  mete  tyme; 
When  fay  had  waschen,  worfyly  J»ay  wenten  to  sete,, 
l>e  best  l)ii rue  ay  abof,  as  hit  best  semed; 
Whene  Guenore  ful  gay,  grayfed  in  J?e  myddes, 
Dressed  on  f  e  dere  des,  dubbed  al  aboute, 
Smal  sendal  bisides,  a  selure  hir  ouer 
Of  tryed  Tolouse,  of  Tars  tapites  in-nogh«, 
J>at  were  enbrawded  &  beten  wyth  fe  best  gemmes, 
pat  my}t  be  preued  of  prys  wyth  penyes  to  buy, 
in  daye ; 

be  comlokest  to  discrye, 

per  glent  witA  y}en  gray; 

A  semloker  fat  euer  he  syje, 

Soth  mo^t  no  mou  say. 


SIR  GAWAIN  AND   THE  GREEN  KNIGHT 


FYTTE  THE  FIRST 

1.  After  the  siege  and  the  assault  had 
ceased  at  Troy,  the  city  been  destroyed 
and  burned  to  brands  and  ashes,  the  warrior 
who  wrought  there  the  trains  of  treason 
was  tried  for  his  treachery,  the  truest  on 
earth.1  This  was  Aeneas  the  noble;  he  and 
his  high  kindred    afterwards    conquered 
provinces,  and  became  patrons  of  well  nigh 
all  the  wealth  in  the  West  Isles.  As  soon 
as  rich  Romulus  turns  him  to  Rome,  with 
great  pride  he  at  once  builds  that  city,  and 
names  it  with  his  own  name,  which  it  now 
has;  Ticius  turns  to  Tuscany  and  founds 
dwellings ;  Longobard  raises  homes  in  Lom- 
bardy ;  and,  far  over  the  French  flood,  Felix 
Brutus  establishes  Britain  joyfully  on  many 
broad  banks,  where   war  and  waste  and 
wonders  by  turns  have  since  dwelt,  and 
many  a  swift  interchange  of  bliss  and  woe. 

2.  And  when  this  Britain  was  founded  by 
this  great  hero,  bold  men  loving  strife  bred 
therein,  and  many  a   time   they  wrought 
destruction.  More  strange  things  have  hap- 
pened in  this  land  since  these  days  than  in 
any  other  that  I  know;  but  of  all  the  Brit- 
ish kings  that  built  here,  Arthur  was  ever 
the  most  courteous,  as  I  have  heard  tell. 
Therefore,  I  mean  to  tell  of  an  adventure 
in  the  world,  which  some  count  strange  and 
extraordinary  even  among  the  wonders  of 
Arthur.  If  ye  will  listen  to  this  lay  but  a 
little  while,  I  will   tell  it  forthright  as  I 
heard  it  told  in  town,  as  it  is  set  down  in 
story  that  cannot  be  changed,  long  written 
in  the  land  in  true  words. 

3.  This  King  lay  royally  at  Camelot  at 
Christmas  tide  with  many  fine  lords,  the 
best  of  men,  all  the  rich  brethren  of  the 
Round  Table,  with  right  rich  revel  and 
careless  mirth.    There   full  many  heroes 

<  Construction  clear,  though  sense  odd.  Antenor  and 
Aeneas  were  the  traitors  who  in  the  medueral  story  of 
Troy  handed  over  the  city  to  the  Greeks.  Antenor  re- 
mained unpopular,  but  Aeneas  suffered  no  loss  of  repu- 
tation. See  Lydgate's  Troy  Book  in  the  publications  of 
the  Early  Eugluh  Text  Soc.,  Bk.  IV,  1.  45391. 


tourneyed  betimes,  jousted  full  gaily; 
then  returned  these  gentle  knights  to  the 
court  to  make  carols.2  For  there  the  feast 
was  held  full  fifteen  days  alike  with  all 
the  meat  and  the  mirth  that  men  could  de- 
vise. Such  a  merry  tumult,  glorious  to  hear; 
joyful  din  by  day,  dancing  at  night.  All 
was  high  joy  in  halls  and  chambers  with 
lords  and  ladies  as  pleased  them  best.  With 
all  the  weal  in  the  world  they  dwelt  there 
together,  the  most  famous  knights  save  only 
Christ,  the  loveliest  ladies  that  ever  had 
life,  and  he,  the  comeliest  of  kings,  who 
holds  the  court.  For  all  this  fair  company 
were  in  their  prime  in  the  hall,  the  happiest 
troop  under  heaven  with  the  proudest  of 
kings.  Truly  it  would  be  hard  to  name  any- 
where so  brave  a  band. 

4.  When  New  Year  was  fresh  and  but 
newly  come,  the  court  was  served  double  on 
the  dais.  As  soon  as  the  kingwith  his  knights 
was  come  into  the  hall,  the  chanting  in  the 
chapel  came  to  an  end;  loud  was  the  cry 
there  of  clerks  and  others.  Noel  was  cele- 
brated anew,  shouted  full  often ;  and  after- 
wards the  great  ones  ran  about  to  take 
handsel;8    called  aloud  for  New  Year's 
gifts,  paid  them  out   briskly,   busily  dis- 
cussed the  gifts;  ladies  laughed  full  loud, 
though  they  had  lost;  and  be  that  won  was 
not  wroth,  that  may  ye  well  trow.  All  this 
mirth  they  made  till  the  meat  time^When 
they  had  washed,  worthily  they  went  to 
their  seats,  the  best  man  ever  above,  as  it 
best  behoved.  Queen  Guinevere  full  beau- 
teous was  set  in  the  midst,  placed  on  the 
rich  dais  adorned  all  about.  Fine  silk  at  the 
sides,  a  canopy  over  her  of  precious  cloth 
of  Toulouse,  and  tapestries  of  Tars,4  that 
were  embroidered  and  set  with  the  best 
gems  that  money  could  buy.  Truly  no  man 
could  say  that  he  ever  beheld  a  comelier 
lady  than  she,  with  her  dancing  gray  eyes. 

5.  But  Arthur  would  not  eat  till  all  were 

t  Dancing  and  singing  in  a  ring. 

*  New  Year's  gifts  of  good  omen. 

*  Oriental  figured  stuff. 


SIR  GAWAIN  AND  THE  GREEN  KNIGHT 


served.  He  was  so  merry  iu  his  mirth,  and 
somewhat  childlike  in  his  manner;  his  life 
pleased  him  well;  he  loved  little  either  to 
lie  long  or  to  sit  long,  so  busied  him  his 
young  blood  and  his  wild  brain.  And  an- 
other custom  moved  him  also,  that  he 
through  chivalry  had  taken  up;  he  would 
never  eat  upon  such  a  dear  day  before  he 
was  told  an  uncouth  tale  of  some  adventur- 
ous thing,  of  some  great  marvel  that  he 
could  believe,  of  ancient  heroes,  of  arms,  or 
of  other  adventures;  or  unless  some  person 
demanded  of  him  a  sure  knight  to  join  with 
him  in  jousting,  to  incur  peril,  to  risk  life 
against  life,  trusting  each  in  the  other,  leav- 
ing the  victory  to  fortune.  This  was  the 
king's  custom  whenever  he  held  court  at 
each  goodly  feast  among  his  free  company 
in  the  hall.  And  so  with  undaunted  face  he 
strides  stoutly  to  his  seat  on  that  New  Year, 
making  great  mirth  with  everybody. 

6.  Thus  the  great  king  stands  waiting  be- 
fore the  high  table,  talking  of  trifles  full 
courteously.  The  good  Gawain  was  placed 
there  beside  Guinevere,  and  Agravain  of 
the  Hard  Hand  sat  on  the  other  side,  both 
of  them  the  king's  sister's  sons  and  full  sure 
knights.  Bishop  Baldwin  at  the  top  begins 
the  table,  and  Ywain,  Urieu's  son,  ate  by 
himself.  These  were  placed  on  the  dais  and 
honorably  served,  and  after  them  many  a 
good  man  at  the  side  tables.   Then  the 
first  course  came  in  with  blare  of  trumpets, 
which  were  hung  with  many  a  bright  ban- 
iier.  A  new  noise  of  kettle-drums  with  the 
noble  pipes,  wild  and  stirring  melodies  wak- 
ened the  echoes;  that  many  a  heart  heaved 
full  high  at  their  tones.  Dainties  of  precious 
meats  followed,  foison  of  fresh  viands,  and 
on  so  many  dishes  that  it  was  difficult  to 
find  place  before  the  people  to  set  on  the 
cloth  the  silver  that  held  the  several  courses. 
Each  man  as  he  himself  preferred  partook 
without  hesitation.  Every  two  *  had  twelve 
dishes  between  them,  good  beer  and  bright 
wine  both. 

7.  Now  will  I  tell  you  no  more  of  their 
service,  for  everybody  must  well  under- 
stand that  there  was  no  lack  of  opportunity 
for  the  people  to  take  their  food.2  Another 

1  It  was  extremely  sumptuous  having  only  two  at  a 
mesa ;  i.  e.  only  two  sharing  the  same  cup  and  platter. 

'  It  seems  to  make  somewhat  better  sense  if  we  trans- 
pose, as  has  here  been  done,  lines  132  and  133;  other- 
wise this  passage  means  that  a  second  course  came  in 
heralded  by  new  music. 


noise  full  new  suddenly  drew  nigh,  for 
scarcely  had  the  music  ceased  a  moment, 
and  the  first  course  been  properly  served  in 
the  court,  than  there  burst  in  at  the  hall 
door  an  awesome  being,  in  height  one  of  the 
tallest  men  in  the  world;  from  the  neck  to 
the  waist  so  square  and  so  thick  was  he,  and 
his  loins  and  his  limbs  so  long  and  so  great, 
that  half  giant  I  believed  him  to  have  been, 
or,  at  any  rate,  the  largest  of  men,  and 
withal  the  handsomest  in  spite  of  his  bulk, 
that  ever  rode;  for  though  his  back  and 
breast  were  so  vast,  yet  his  belly  and  waist 
were  properly  slim ;  and  all  his  form  accord- 
ing, full  fairly  shaped.  At  the  hue  of  his 
noble  face  men  wondered;  he  carried  him- 
self in  hostile  fashion  and  was  entirely 
green. 

8.  All  green  was  this  man  and  his  cloth- 
ing; a  straight  coat  sat  tight  to  his  sides;  a 
fair  mantle  above,  adorned  within;  the  lin- 
ing showed,  with  costly  trimming  of  shining 
white  fur;  and  such  his  hood  also,  that  was 
caught  back  from  his  locks  and  lay  on  his 
shoulders,  the  hem  well  stretched; 8  hose  of 
the  same  green,  that  clung  to  his  calf;  and 
clean  spurs  under,  of  bright  gold  upon  silk 
bands  richly  barred, and  shoes4  on  his  shanks 
as  the  hero  rides.  And  all  his  vesture  ver- 
ily was  clean  verdure,  both  the  bars  of  his 
belt,  and  the  other  beauteous  stones  that 
were  set  in  fine  array  about  himself  and  his 
saddle,  worked  on  silk.   It  would  be  too 
difficult  to  tell  the  half  of  the  trifles  that 
were  embroidered  there,  with  birds  and 
flies,  with  gay  gauds  of  green,  —  the  gold 
ever  in  the  middle;  the  pendants  of  the 
poitrel,  the  proud  crupper,  the  bits,  —  and 
all  the  metal  was  enamelled;  the  stirrups 
that  he  stood  on  were  coloured  the  same,  and 
his  saddle  bow  likewise,  and  his  fine  reins  5 
that  glimmered  and  glinted  all  of  green 
stones.    The  horse  that  he  rode  on  was  of 
the  same  colour  too,  a  green  horse,  great  and 
thick,  a  steed  full  stiff  to  guide,  in  gay  em- 
broidered bridle,  and  one  right  dear  to  his 
master. 

9.  This  hero  was  splendidly  dressed  in 
green;  and  the  hair  of  bis  head  matched  that 
of  his  horse;6  fair  flowing  locks  enfolded 
his  shoulders ;  a  beard  as  big  as  a  bush  hung 

'  Translation  doubtful.          «  Word  doubtfuqj 

6  Our  "reins"  is  a  mere  stop-gap.  The  MS.  has  the 

puzzling  sturtes. 
8  Translating  hors  swete  of  the  MS.  as  "  horse's 

suite." 


SIR  GAWAIN  AND  THE  GREEN  KNIGHT 


over  his  breast;  and  it,  together  with  his 
splendid  hair  that  reached  from  his  head, 
was  trimmed  evenly  all  round  above  his 
elbows,  so  that  half  his  arms  were  caught 
thereunder  in  the  manner  of  a  king's  hood,1 
that  covers  his  neck.  The  mane  of  that  great 
horse  was  much  like  it,  very  curly  and 
combed,  with  knots  full  many  folded  in  with 
gold  wire  about  the  fair  green,  —  always 
one  knot  of  the  hair,  another  of  gold.  The 
tail  and  the  forelock  were  twined  in  the 
same  way,  and  both  bound  with  a  band  of 
bright  green,  set  with  full  precious  stones 
the  whole  length  of  the  dock,  and  then  tied 
up  with  a  thong  in  a  tight  knot;  where  rang 
many  bells  full  bright  of  burnished  gold. 
Such  a  steed  in  the  world,  such  a  hero  as 
rides  him,  was  never  beheld  in  that  hall  be- 
fore that  time.  His  glances  were  like  bright 
lightning,  so  said  all  that  saw  him.  It 
seemed  as  if  no  man  could  endure  under  his 
blows. 

10.  He  had  neither  helm  nor  hauberk, 
nor  gorget,  armour  nor  breastplate,  nor 
shaft  nor  shield  to  guard  or  to  smite;  but 
in  his  one  hand  he  had  a  holly  twig,  that  is 
greenest  when  groves  are  bare,  and  an  axe 
in  his  other,  a  huge  and  prodigious  one,  a 
weapon  merciless  almost  beyond  descrip- 
tion; the  head  had  the  vast  length  of  an  ell- 
yard,  the  blade  all  of  green  steel  and  of 
beaten  gold;  the  bit8  brightly  burnished, 
with  a  broad  edge,  as  well  shaped  for  cut- 
ting as  sharp  razors.  The  stern  warrior 
gripped  it  by  8  the  steel  of  its  stout  staff, 
which  was  wound  witli  iron  to  the  end  of 
the  wood  and  all  engraven  with  green  in 
beauteous  work.  A  lace  was  lapped  about 
it,  that  was  fastened  at  the  head,  and  tied 
up  often  along  the  helve,  with  many  pre- 
cious tassels  attached  on  rich  embroidered 
buttons  of  the  bright  green.  This  hero  turns 
him  in  and  enters  the  hall,  riding  straight 
to  the  high  dais,  fearless  of  mischief.  He 
greeted  never  a  one,  but  looked  loftily 
about,  and  the  first  word  that  he  uttered 
was:  "Where  is  the  governor  of  this  com- 
pany ?  Gladly  I  would  see  that  hero  and 
speak  with  him." 

lie  cast  his  eye  on  the  knights  and  rode 

1  The  word  eapftdo»  here  translated  "  hood "  It 
.•are.  It  might  conceivably  mean  "  cnmail,"  a  protec- 
tion of  mall  for  the  neck  and  part  of  the  head,  that 
bang  down  from  or  under  the  helm. 

»  "  Bit "  is  still  used  for  the  cutting  edge  of  an  axe. 

*  «ot  in  the  MB. 


fiercely  up  and  down,  stopped  and  gan  pon- 
der who  was  there  the  most  renowned. 

11.  All  gazed  fixedly  on  the  man,  for 
everybody  marvelled  what  it  might  mean, 
that  a  knight  and  a  horse  could  have  such 
a  colour:  as  green  grown  as  the  grass,  and 
greener,  it  seemed;  shining  brighter  than 
green  enamel  on  gold.  All  were  amazed  who 
stood  there,  and  stalked  nearer  to  him,  with 
all  the  wonder  in  the  world  what  he  would 
do;  for  many  marvels  had  they  seen,  but 
such  never  before.   Therefore  for  phantom 
and  faery  the  folk  there  deemed  it;  and  for 
that  reason  many  a  noble  warrior  was  slow 
to  answer,  and  all  were  astonished  at  his 
voice  and  sat  stone  still  in  a  deep  silence 
through  the  rich  hall.  Their  voices 4  sank  as 
though  they  had  suddenly  fallen  asleep.  I 
deem,  however,  that  it  was  not  all  for  fear, 
but  somewhat  for  courtesy.   But  now  let 
him  to  whom  all  defer  undertake  the  wight. 

12.  Then  Arthur  before  the  high  dais 
beheld  that  adventure,  and    saluted  the 
stranger  properly,  for  never  was  he  afraid, 
and  said,   "Sir,   welcome   indeed  to  this 
place.  I  am  called  Arthur,  the  head  of  this 
hostel.  Light  courteously  down  and  tarry, 
I  pray  thee;  and  whatso  thy  will  is  we 
shall  wit  after." 

"  Nay,  so  help  me  he  that  sits  on  high," 
quoth  the  hero.  "  To  dwell  any  time  iu 
this  house  was  not  my  errand ;  but  because 
the  fame  of  this  people  is  lifted  up  so  high, 
and  thy  town  and  thy  men  are  held  the  best, 
the  stoutest  in  steel  gear  on  steeds  to  ride, 
the  wightest  and  the  worthiest  of  the  world's 
kind,  and  proved  opponents  in  other  proper 
sports;  and  here  courtesy  is  known,  as  I 
have  heard  tell,  —  it  is  this  that  has  enticed 
me  hither  certainly  at  this  time.  You  may 
be  sure  by  this  branch  that  I  bear  here  that 
I  pass  in  peace  and  seek  no  quarrel ;  for  if  I 
had  set  out  with  a  company  in  fighting  fash- 
ion, I  have  a  hauberk  at  home  and  a  helm 
both,  a  shield  and  a  sharp  spear  shining 
bright,  and  other  weapons  to  wield,  I  ween 
well  also;  but  since  I  wished  no  war,  my 
weeds  are  softer.  Now  if  thou  be  as  bold  as 
all  men  tell,  thou  wilt  grant  me  graciously 
the  game  that  I  ask." 

Arthur  knew  how  to  answer,  and  said: 
"  Sir  courteous  knight,  if  it  is  battle  that 
thou  cravest,  thou  shalt  not  fail  of  a  fight 
here." 

<  Possibly  "(MM"  or  "looks." 


SIR  GAWAIN  AND  THE  GREEN  KNIGHT 


13.  "  Nay,  I  demand  no  fight;  in  faith  I 
tell  thee  there  are  but  beardless  children 
about  on  this  bench.  If  I  were  hasped  in 
arms  on  a  high  steed  there  is  no  man  here 
to  match  uie,  their  might  is  so  weak.  There- 
fore I  crave  in  this  court  a  Christmas  game, 
for  it  is  Yule  and  New  Year,  and  here  are 
many  gallants.  If  there  be  a  man  in  this 
house   who  holds  himself  so  hardy,  is  so 
bold  in  his  blood,  so  rash  in  his  head,  that 
he  dares  stiffly  strike  one  stroke  for  an- 
other, I  shall  give  him  as  my  gift  this  rich 
gisarm,  this  axe,  that  is  heavy  enough,  to 
handle  as  he  likes;  and  I  shall  abide  the 
first  blow  as  bare  as  I  sit.  If  any  warrior 
be  wight  enough  to  try  what  I  propose,  let 
him  leap  lightly  to  me  and  take  this  weapon 
—  I  quit-claim  it  forever,  let  him  keep  it 
as  his  own  —  and  I  shall  stand  him  a  stroke 
firmly  on  this  floor.  At  another  time,  by  our 
Lady,  thou  wilt  grant  me  the  boon  of  deal- 
ing him  another  blow;  I  will  give  him  re- 
spite of  a  twelvemonth  and  a  day.  Now  hie, 
and  let  us  see  quickly  if  any  herein  dare 
say  aught." 

14.  If  he  had  astonished  them  at  first, 
stiller  were  then  all  the  retainers  in  hall, 
the  high  and  the  low.  The  warrior  on  his 
steed  settled  himself  in  his  saddle,  and 
fiercely  his  red  eyes  he  reeled  about ;  bent 
his  thick  brows,  shining  green  ;  and  waved 
his  beard,  awaiting  whoso  would  rise.  When 
none  would  answer  him  he  coughed  aloud, 
stretched  himself  haughtily  and  began  to 
speak;  "What!    Is   this  Arthur's  house," 
said  the  hero  then,  "  that  is  famous  through 
so  many  realms  ?  Where  is  now  your  pride 
and  your  conquests,  your  fierceness,  and 
your  wrath  and  your  great  words  ?  Now  is 
the  revel  and  the  renown  of  the  Round 
Table  overcome  by  the  word  of  a  single 
man;  for  all  tremble  for  dread  without  a 
blow  shown." 

With  this  he  laughed  so  loud  that  the 
lord  grieved ;  the  blood  shot  for  shame  into 
his  fair  face.  He  waxed  as  wroth  as  the  wind; 
and  so  did  all  that  were  there.  The  king  so 
keen  of  mood  then  stood  near  that  proud 
man. 

15.  "  Sir,"  said  he, "  by  heaven  thy  asking 
is  foolish;  and  as  thou  hast  demanded  folly, 
it  behooves  thee  to  find  it.  I  know  no  man 
that  is  aghast  of  thy  great  words.    Give  me 
now  thy  gisarm,  for  God's  sake,  and  I  will 
grant  thy  boon  that  thou  hast  bidden." 


Quickly  he  leaped  to  him  and  caught  at 
his  hand ;  and  the  other  alights  fiercely  on 
foot.  Now  Arthur  has  his  axe,  and  grips 
the  helve;  he  whirls  it  sternly  about  as  if 
he  meant  to  strike  with  it.  The  bold  stran- 
ger stood  upright  before  him,  higher  than 
any  in  the  house  by  a  head  and  more;  with 
stern  cheer  he  stood  there,  stroked  his 
beard,  and  with  cool  countenance  drew 
down  his  coat,  no  more  afraid  or  dismayed 
for  Arthur's  great  strokes  than  if  some  ona 
had  brought  him  a  drink  of  wiiie  upon  the 
bench. 

Gawain,  that  sat  by  the  queen,  turned  to 
the  king:  "  I  beseech  now  with  all  courtesy 
that  this  affair  might  be  mine." 

16.  "  Would    ye,    worthy    lord,"   quoth 
Gawain  to  the  king,  "  bid  me  step  from 
this  bench  and  stand  by  you  there,  —  that  I 
without  rudeness  might  leave   this   table, 
and  that  my  liege  lady  liked  it  not  ill  —  I 
would  come  to  your  help  before  your  rich 
court;  for  methinks  it  is  obviously  unseemly 
that  such  an  asking  is  made  so  much  of  in 
your  hall,  even  though  ye  yourself  be  will- 
ing to  take  it  upon  you,  while  so  many  bold 
ones  sit  about  you  on  the  bench;  than  whom, 
I  ween,  none  under  heaven  are  higher  of 
spirit,  nor  more  mighty  on  the  field  where 
strife  is  reared.  I  am  the  weakest,  I  know, 
and  feeblest  of  wit;  and  to  tell  the  truth 
there  would  be  the  least  loss  in  my  life.  I 
am  only  to  praise  forasmuch  as  ye  are  my 
uncle;  no   other  nobility  than  your  blood 
know  I  in  my  body.  And  since  this  adven- 
ture is  so  foolish,  it  belongs  not  to  you;  I 
have  asked  it  of  you  first ;  give  it  to  me. 
Let  this  great  court  decide l  if  I  have  not 
spoken  well." 

The  heroes  took  counsel  together  and 
they  all  gave  the  same  advice,  —  to  free 
the  crowned  king  and  give  the  game  to 
Gawain. 

17.  Then  the  king  commanded  Gawain 
to  rise  from  the  table;  and  he  right  quickly 
stood  up  and  made  himself  ready,  kneeled 
down  before  the  king  and  took  the  weapon; 
and  Arthur  lovingly  left  it  to  him,  lifted  up 
his  hand  and  gave  him  God's  blessing,  and 
gladly  bade  him  be  hardy  both  of  heart  and 
of  hand.   "  Take  care,  cousin,"  quoth  the 
king,  "that  thou  give  him   a  cut;  and  if 
thou  handle  him  properly,  I  readily  believe 

i  This  word  is  supplied.  Perhaps  "  speak  "  would  be 
more  conservative. 


SIR  GAWAIN  AND  THE  GREEN  KNIGHT 


that  thou  shalt  endure  the  blow  which  he 
shall  give  after." 

Gawaiu  goes  to  the  man  with  gisarm  in 
hand;  and  he  boldly  awaits  him,  shrinking 
never  a  whit.  Then  speaks  to  Sir  Gawain 
the  knight  in  the  green;  "Rehearse  we  our 
agreement  before  we  go  farther.  First  I 
conjure  thee,  hero,  how  thou  art  called, 
that  thou  tell  me  it  truly,  so  that  I  may 
believe  it." 

"  In  good  faith,"  quoth  the  knight, 
"Gawain  am  I  called,  who  give  you  this 
buffet,  whatever  befalls  after;  and  at  this 
time  twelvemonth  I  am  to  take  from  thee 
another  with  whatever  weapon  thou  wilt, 
and  from  no  wight  else  alive." 

The  other  answers  again,  "  Sir  Gawain, 
so  thrive  I  as  I  am  heartily  glad  that  thou 
-Shalt  give  this  blow." 

18.  "  By  Gog,"  quoth  the  green  knight, 
"Sir  Gawain,  it  delights  me  that  I  am  to 
get  at  thy  fist  what  1  have  requested  here; 
and  thou  hast  readily  and  truly  rehearsed 
the  whole  of  the  covenant  that  I  asked  of 
the  king,  save  that  thou  shalt  assure  me, 
sir,  by  thy  troth,  that  thou  wilt  seek  me 
thyself  wheresoever  thou  thinkest  I  may 
be  found  upon  the  earth,  and  fetch  for  thy- 
self such  wages  as  thou  dealest  me  today 
before  this  rich  company." 

"Where  should  I  seek  thee?"  quoth 
Gawain.  "  Where  is  thy  place  ?  I  know 
never  where  thou  livest,  by  him  that 
wrought  me;  nor  do  I  know  thee,  knight, 
thy  court,  nor  thy  name.  But  tell  me  truly 
the  way  and  how  thon  art  called,  and  I  will 
use  all  my  wit  to  win  my  way  thither,  — 
and  that  I  swear  thee,  for  a  sooth,  and  by  my 
sure  troth." 

"New  Year  will  suffice  for  that ;  no  more 
is  needed  now,"  quoth  the  man  in  green  to 
Gawain  the  courteous.  "  To  tell  the  truth, 
after  I  have  received  thy  tap,  and  thou  hast 
smitten  me  well,  I  shall  promptly  inform 
thee  of  my  house  and  my  home  and  mine 
own  name.  Then  thou  mayest  inquire  about 
my  journey  and  hold  promise ;  and  if  I  speak 
no  speech,  then  thou  speedest  the  better,  for 
thou  mayest  linger  at  ease  in  thy  land  and 
seek  no  further.  Take  now  thy  grim  tool  to 
thee  and  let  us  see  how  thon  knockest." 

"  Gladly,  sir,  for  sooth,"  quoth  Gawain  as 
he  strokes  his  axe. 

19.  The  preen  knight  on  the  ground  pre- 
pared himself  properly.   With  the  head  a 


little  bowed  he  disclosed  the  flesh.  His  long, 
lovely  locks  he  laid  over  his  crown,  and  let 
the  naked  nape  of  his  neck  show  for  the 
blow.  Gawain  gripped  his  axe  and  gathered 
it  on  high;  the  left  foot  he  set  before  on 
the  ground,  and  let  the  axe  light  smartly 
down  on  the  naked  flesh,1  so  that  the  sharp 
;edge  severed  the  giant's  bones,  and  shrank 
through  the  clear  flesh  2  and  sheared  it  in 
twain,  till  the  edge  of  the  brown  steel  bit 
into  the  ground.  The  fair  head  fell  from 
the  neck  to  the  earth,  and  many  pushed  it 
with  their  feet  where  it  rolled  forth.  The 
blood  burst  from  the  body  and  glistened 
on  the  green(  Yet  never  faltered  nor  fell 
the  hero  for  all  that;  but  stoutly  he  started 
up  with  firm  steps,  and  fiercely  he  rushed 
forth  where  the  heroes  stood,  caught  his 
lovely  head,  and  lifted  it  up  straightway. 
Then  he  turned  to  his  steed,  seized  the  bri- 
dle, stepped  into  the  steel  bow  and  strode 
aloft,  holding  the  head  in  his  hand  by  the 
hairy  and  as  soberly  the  man  sat  in  his  sad- 
dle as  if  no  mishap  had  ailed  him,  though 
he  was  headless  on  the  spot.  He  turned  his 
trunk  about  —  that  ugly  body  that  bled. 
Many  a  one  of  them  thought  that  he  had 
lost  his  reason. 

20.  For  he  held  the  head  straight  up  in 
his  hand;  turned  the  face  toward  the  highest 
on  the  dais;  and  it  lifted  up  the  eyelids  and 
looked  straight  out,  and  spoke  thus  much 
with  its  mouth,  as  ye  may  now  hear :  — 
"  Look  Gawain,  that  thou  be  ready  to  go 
as  thou  hast  promised,  and  seek  loyally, 
hero,  till  thou  find  me ;  as  thou  hast  prom- 
ised in  this  hall  in  the  hearing  of  these 
knights.  To  the  green  chapel  go  thou,  I 
charge  thee,  to  receive  such  a  blow  as  thou 
hast  dealt.  Thou  deservest  to  be  promptly 
paid  on  New  Year's  morn.8  As  the  knight 
of  the  green  chapel  many  men  know  me ; 
therefore,  if  thou  strivest  to  find  me,  thou 
shalt  never  fail.  And  so  come,  or  it  be- 
hooves thee  to  be  called  recreant." 

With  a  wild  rush  he  turned  the  reins, 
and  flew  out  at  the  hall  door  —  his  head  in 
his  hand  —  so  that  the  fire  of  the  flint  flew 
from  the  foal's  hoofs.  To  what  country  he 
vanished  knew  none  there;  no  more  than 
they  wist  whence  he  was  come.  The  king 
and  Gawain  roared  with  laughter  at  that 

»  Some  mich  word  has  to  be  supplied  after  naked. 

*  "Oreaae  "  in  the  original. 

1  M'.rrU's  punctuation  of  this  passage  ha«  been 
altered. 


s 


SIR  GAWAIN  AND  THE  GREEN  KNIGHT 


green  man;  but  this  adventure  was  reck- 
oned a  marvel  among  men. 

21.  Though  the  courteous  king  wondered 
in  his  heart,  he  let  no  semblance  be  seen, 
but  said  aloud  to  the  comely  queen  with 
courteous  speech,  "  Dear  dame,  today  be 
never  dismayed ;  well  becoming  are  such 
tricks  at  Christmas,  in  lack  of  entertain- 
ment, to  laugh  and  siug  about  among  these 
pleasant  carols  of  knights  and  ladies.  Never- 
theless I  may  well  go  to  my  meat,  for  I  can 
not  deny  that  I  have  seen  a  marvel."  He 
glanced  at  Sir  Gawain  and  said  cheerfully, 
"Now,  sir,  hang  up  thine  axe;  it  has  hewn 
enough."  And  it  was  put  above  the  dais  to 
hang  on  the  tapestry  where  all  men  might 
marvel  at  it,  and  by  it  avouch  the  wonder- 
ful happening.  Then  they  turned  to  the 
board,  these  heroes  together  —  the  king  and 
the  good  knight  —  and  the  keen  men  served 
them  double  of  all  dainties,  as  was  most 
fitting;  with  all  manner  of  meat,  and  min- 
strelsy both.  They  spent  that  day  in  joy 
until  it  came  to  an  end.  Now  take  care, 
Sir  Gawain,  that  thou  blench  not  for  the 
pain  to  prosecute  this  adventure  that  thou 
hast  taken  on  hand. 

FYTTE  THE  SECOND 

1.  This  hansel  of  adventures  had  Arthur 
at  the  beginning,  in  the  young  year,  since  he 
yearned  to  hear  boasting.  Although  there 
was  little  news  when  they  went  to  their 
seats,  now  they  are  provided  with  stern 
work,1  their  hands  quite  full.  Gawain  was 
glad  to  begin  those  games  in  the  hall ;  but 
it  would  not  be  surprising  if  the  end  were 
heavy;  for  though  men  be  merry  in  mind 
when  they  have  much  drink,  yet  a  year  runs 
full  swiftly,  and  yields  never  the  same ;  the 
beginning  full  seldom  matches  the  end.  And 
so  this  Yule  went  by,  and  the  year  after  it, 
each  season  in  turn  following  the  other. 
After  Christmas  came  the  crabbed  Lent,  that 
tries  the  flesh  with  fish  and  more  simple 
food.  But  then  the  weather  of  the  world 
quarrels  with  winter,  and  though  the  cold 
still  clings,  the  clouds  lift;  copiously  de- 
scends the  rain  in  warm  showers,  and  falls 
upon  the  fair  earth.  Flowers  show  there; 
green  are  the  garments  both  of  fields  and  of 
groves;  birds  hnrry  to  build,  and  lustily 

>  Morris's  punctuation  of  this  passage  baa  been 
changed. 


they  sing  for  the  solace  of  the  soft  summer, 
that  follows  thereafter.  Blossoms  swell  into 
bloom  in  rows  rich  and  rank;  and  lovely 
notes  are  heard  in  the  beauteous  wood. 

2.  After  the  season  of  summer  with  the 
soft  winds,  when  Zephyrus  blows  on  seeds 
and  herbs,  happy  is  the  plant  that  waxes 
then,  when  the  dank  dew  drops  from  the 
leaves,  to  await  "the  blissful  glance  of  the 
bright  sun.  But  then  harvest  hastens  and 
hardens  it  soon:  warns  it  to  wax  full  ripe 
against  the  winter.  He  drives  with  drought 
the  dust  to  rise,  —  from  the  face  of  the  earth 
to  fly  full  high.   The  wild  wind  of  the  wel- 
kin wrestles  with  the  sun.   The  leaves  fall 
from  the  bough  and  light  on  the  ground. 
The  grass  becomes  all  gray  that  erst  was 
green.    Then  all  ripes  and  rots  that  which 
formerly  flourished;  and  thus  runs  the  year 
in  yesterdays   many;   and   winter   returns 
again  without    asking   any  man,2  till    the 
Michelmas  moon  has  come  in  wintry  wise. 
Then  thinks  Gawaiu  full  soon  of  his  anxious 
voyage. 

3.  Yet  till  Allhallows  day  with  Arthur 
he  lingers;  and  Arthur  made  a  feast  on  that 
festival  for  the  hero's  sake,  with  great  and 
gay  revel  of  the  Round  Table.  Knights  full 
courteous  and  comely  ladies  all  for  love  of 
that  man  were  in  sorrow;  but  nevertheless 
they  spoke  only  of  mirth ;  and  many  a  joy- 
less one  there  made  jests  for  his  gentle  sake. 
After  meat  he  mournfully  addresses   his 
uncle,  and  speaks  of  his  passage,  and  openly 
he  says  —  "  Now,  liege  lord  of  my  life,  leave 
I  ask  of  you.  Ye    know  the  cost  of  this 
case;  I  do  not  care  to  tell  you  even  a  trifle 
of  its  dangers; 8  but  I  am  ready  to  start  for 
the  fray  no  later  than  tomorrow  morn,  to 
seek  the  man  in  the  green,  as  God  will 
guide  me." 

Then  the  best  of  the  castle  gathered  to- 
gether, Ywain  and  Erec,  and  others  full 
many,  Sir  Dodinel  de  Sauvage,  the  Duke 
of  Clarence,  Lancelot  and  Lyonel  and  Lucan 
the  Good,  Sir  Bors  and  Sir  Bedever,  l>ig 
men  both,  and  many  other  proud  ones,  with 
Mador  de  la  Port.  All  this  company  of  the 
court  came  nearer  to  the  king,  to  counsel 
the  knight,  with  care  at  their  hearts.  There 
was  much  deep  grief  felt  in  the  hall  that 
so  worthy  a  one  as  Gawain  should  go  on 
that  errand,  to  endure  a  sorry  dint  and 

*  Passage  a  bit  vaprue. 

*  Morris's  punctuation  altered. 


SIR  GAWAIN  AND  THE  GREEN  KNIGHT 


deal  none  himself  with  his  brand.  But  the 
knight  ever  made  good  cheer,  and  said, 
"  Why  should  I  swerve  from  stern  and 
strange  destiny  ?  What  can  a  man  do  but 
try?" 

4.  He  lingered  there  all  that  day,  and  on 
the  morn  made  ready.    Early  he  asked  for 
his  arms,  and  they  were  all  brought.    First 
a  carpet  of  Toulouse  was  stretched  over  the 
floor,  and  much  was   the  gilt  gear  that 
gleamed  upon  it.    The  brave  man  stepped 
thereon  and  handled  the  steel,  clad  iu  a 
doublet  of  costly  Tars,  and  afterwards  a 
well  wrought  hood,  closed  on  top  and  bound 
within  with  a  glistening  white  fur.    Then 
they  put  the  sabatons1  upon  the  hero's  feet, 
lapped  his  legs  in  steel  with  fair  greaves,  to 
which  were  attached  well  polished  poleynes2 
fastened  about  his  knees  with  knots  of  gold. 
Fine  cuisses  then,  that  well  enclosed   his 
thick,  brawny  thighs,  they  attached  with 
thongs.    Next  the    decorated    burnie 8  of 
bright  steel  rings  upon  precious  stuff  encased 
the  hero,  and  well  burnished  braces  upon  his 
two  arms,  with  elbow-pieces  goodly  and  gay 
and  gloves  of  plate,  and  all  the  goodly  gear 
that  might  avail  him  at  that  time,  with  rich 
coat  armour,  gold  spurs  well  fastened,  and 
a  sure  brand  girt  about  his  side  by  a  silken 
sash. 

5.  When  he  was  hasped  in  arms  his  har- 
ness was   rich;  the   least   latchet  or  loop 
gleamed  with  gold.  So,  harnessed  as  he  was, 
he  heard  his  mass,  offered  and  adored  at 
the  high  altar.   Then  he  came  to  the  king 
and  his  court ;  courteously  took  his  leave  of 
lords  and  ladies;  and  they  kissed  him,  and 
convoyed  him,  entrusting  him  to  Christ.  By 
that  time  was  Gringolet  ready,  and  girt  with 
a  saddle  that  gleamed  full  gaily  with  many 
gold    fringes;    everywhere    nailed    anew, 
prepared  for  that  emergency.    The  bridle, 
barred  about,  was  bound  with  bright  gold; 
the  decoration  of  the  breastplate  and  of  the 
fine  housings,  the  crupper  and  caparison, 
accorded  with  the  saddle-bow,  and  all  was 
adorned  with  rich  red  gold  nails,  that  glit- 
tered and  gleamed  like  the  gleam  of  the  sun. 
Then  he  took  the  helm  and  quickly  kissed 
it.  It  was  stoutly  stapled  and  stuffed  within; 
it  was  high  on  his  head,  hasped  behind,  with 
a  light  urison  *  over  the  ventail,5  embroid- 
ered and  bound  with  the  best  gems  on  a 


>  steel  shoes.  »  knee  piece*. 

*  scarf.        »  visor. 


>  coat  of  mail. 


broad  silken  border;  and  birds  on  the  seams 
like  painted  popinjays  6  preening  themselves 
here  and  there;  turtle-doves  and  true-loves7 
thickly  interlaced.  As  many  birds  there 
were  as  had  been  in  town  for  seven  winters. 
The  circlet  that  surrounded  his  crown  was 
even  more  precious  —  a  device  of  gleaming 
diamonds. 

6.  Then  they  showed  him  the  shield,  that 
was   of    sheer    gules,   with  the  pentangle 
painted  in  pure  gold.    He  took  it  by  the 
baldric  and  cast  it  about  his  neck;  and  it 
became  the  hero  passing  fair.    And  why 
the  peutangle  pertains  to  that  noble  prince 
I  mean  to  tell  yon,  though  it  should  delay 
me.    It  is  a  sign  that  Solomon  set  formerly 
as  a  token  of  truth,  by  its  own  right,  for 
it  is  a  figure  that  holds  five  points,  and 
each  line  overlaps  and  locks  in  another;  and 
throughout  it  is  endless;  and  the  English 
call  it  everywhere,  as  I  hear,  the  endless 
knot.  Therefore  it  suits  this  knight  and  his 
clear  arms,  forever  faithful  in  five  things, 
and  in  each  of  them  five  ways.  Gawain  was 
known  for  good  and  as  refined  gold,  devoid 
of   every   villainy,   adorned   with   virtues. 
Therefore,  the  new  8  pentangle  he  bore  on 
shield  and  coat,  as  the  man  most  true  of 
speech  and  the  knight  gentlest  of  behaviour. 

7.  First,  he  was  found  faultless  in  his  five 
wits ;  and  again  the  hero  failed  never  in  his 
five  fingers;  and  all  his  affiance  in  this  world 
was  in  the  five  wounds  that  Christ  received 
on  the  cross,  as  the  creed  tells;  and  where- 
soever this  man  was  hard  bestead  in  the 
inele'e  his  pious  thought  was  in  this  above 
all  other  things  —  to  take  all  his  strength 
from  the  five  joys  that  the  courteous  Queen 
of  Heaven  had  of  her  child.  For  this  cause 
the  knight  had  her  image  comely  painted  in 
the  greater  half  of  his  shield,  that  when  he 
looked  down  thereupon,  his  courage  never 
abated.    The  fifth  five  that  I  find  that  the 
hero  used,  were  generosity  and  fellowship 
above  all  things,  his  purity  and  his  cour- 
tesy  that   never   swerved,   and   pity   that 
passes  all  qualities.    These  very  five  were 
more  surely  set  upon  that  warrior  than  upon 
any  other.  Now  all  these  9  were  established 
fivefold  in  this  knight,  and  each  one  was 
fastened  in  another  that  had  no  end,  and 
they  were  fastened  on  five  points  that  never 
failed,  nor   met   anywhere,  nor   sundered 


•  parrots. 

'  Should  it  be  now  f 


i  true  lovpr'n  knot*. 

•  These  five  larger  virtue*. 


10 


SIR  GAWAIN  AND  THE  GREEN  KNIGHT 


either,  but  finished  always  without  end  at 
each  corner,  wherever  the  game  began  or 
concluded.  Therefore  on  his  fair  shield  this 
knot  was  painted  royally  with  red  gold  upon 
red  gules.  That  is  the  true  pentangle  as 
the  people  properly  call  it.  Now  was  the 
gay  Gawain  armed.  He  caught  up  his  lauce 
right  there,  and  with  a  good-day  he  went 
for  evermore. 

8.  He  spurred  his  steed  with  the  spurs 
and  sprang  on  his  way  so  swiftly  that  the 
stone   struck  out  fire  after  him.   All  who 
saw  the  gentle  man  sighed  in  heart,  and  the 
heroes  said  all  together  to  each  other  in  their 
love  for  that  comely  knight,  "  By  Christ,  it 
is  a  shame  that  thou,  hero,  must  be  lost,  who 
art  so  noble  of  life.  In  faith  it  is  not  easy 
to  find  his  match  upon  the  earth.  To  have 
acted  more  warily  would  have  been  better 
counsel;  and  to  have  made  yon  dear  one  a 
duke;  it  would  well  become  him  to  be  a 
brilliant  leader  of  people  here.   This  would 
have  been  better  than  to  have  him  utterly 
destroyed,  given  over1  to  an  elvish  man  for 
mere  boasting  pride.    Who  ever  knew  any 
king  to  take  such  counsel  as  to  suffer  knights 
to  be  so  tricked  for  a  Christmas  game."  Much 
warm  water  welled  from  eyes  when  that 
seemly  sire  departed  from  the  dwellings 
that  day.    He  made  no  stop,  but  wightly 
went  his  way;  many  a  tiresome  path  he 
rode,  as  I  heard  the  book  tell. 

9.  Now    rides    this    hero,    Sir    Gawain, 
through  the  realm  of  Logres  in  God's  be- 
half, though  to  him  it  seemed  no  play.   Oft 
alone  companionless  he  lodged  at  night  in 
places  where  he  found  not  before  him  the 
fare  that  he  liked.  No  company  had  he  but 
his  foal  by  friths  and  downs,  nor  nobody 
but  God  to  talk  with  by  the  way;  till  that 
he  approached  nigh  unto  North  Wales.  He 
kept  all  the  isles  of  Anglesey  on  the  left 
side,  and  fared  over  the  fords  by  the  fore- 
lands, over  at  the  Holy  Head,  till  he  again 
took  land  in  the  wilderness  of  Wirrel.  There 
dwelt  but  few  that  loved  either  God  or  man 
with  good  heart.    And  ever  as  he  fared  he 
asked  of  men  that  he  met  if  they  had  heard 
any  talk  of  a  green  knight  of  the  green 
chapel  in  any  spot  thereabout,  and  all  nicked 
him  with  nay,  that  never  in  their  life  saw  they 
any  man  of  such  green  hue.  The  knight  took 
strange  roads  by  many  a  rough  bank.    His 
cheer  changed  full  oft  ere  he  saw  that  chapel. 

>  The  meaning  of  the  verb  is  doubtful. 


10.  Many  a  cliff  he  overclimbed  in  strange 
countries;  far   sundered  from  his  friends, 
lonely   he   rode.    At   each  ford   or  water 
where  the  hero  passed  it  were  strange  if  he 
found  not  a  foe  before  him,  and  that  so  foul 
and  so  fell  that  it  behooved  him  to  fight. 
So  many  marvels  in  the  mountains  there  the 
man  found  that  it  were  too  tedious  to  tell 
of  ths  tenth  part.     Sometimes  he  warred 
with  serpents,  and  with  wolves  also,  some- 
times with  savages  that  dwelt  in  the  cliffs; 
both  with  bulls  and  bears,  and  boars  some- 
times; and  giants  that  assailed  him  from  the 
high  fell.    Had  he  not   been  doughty  and 
stern,  and  served  God,  doubtless  he  had  been 
dead  and  slain  full  oft.    But  the  warfare 
tried  him  not  so  much  but  that  the  winter 
was  worse,  when  the  cold  clear  water  shed 
from  the  clouds,  and  froze  ere  it  might  fall 
to  the  barren  earth.   Near  slain  with  the 
sleet  he  slept  in  his  iron  more  nights  than 
enough  011  naked  rocks,  where  clattering 
from  the  crest  the  cold  burn  ran,  and  hung 
high  over  his  head  in  hard  icicles.   Thus  in 
peril  and  pain  and  plights  full  hard  through 
the  country  wanders  this  knight  all  alone 
till  Christmas  Eve.    At  that  tide  to  Mary 
he  made  his  moan  that  she  might  direct  his 
riding  and  lead  him  to  some  dwelling. 

11.  Merrily  on  the  morn  he  rides  by  a 
mount  into  a  forest  full  deep,  that  was 
strangely  wild.    High  hills  were  on  each 
side,  and  woods  beneath  of  hoar  oaks  full 
huge,  a  hundred  together.    The  hazel  and 
the   hawthorn   were   twined  all   together, 
covered    everywhere  with    rough  ragged 
moss,  with  many  unblithe  birds  upon  bare 
twigs  that  piteously  piped  there  for  pain  of 
the  cold.   The  knight  upon  Gringolet  rides 
all  alone  under  the  boughs,  through  many  a 
moss  and  mire,  mourning  for  his  trials,  lest 
he  should  never  survive  to  see  the  service  of 
that  Sire  who  on  that  very  night  was  born 
of  a  lady  to  quell  our  pain.    And  therefore 
sighing  he  said  :  "  I  beseech  thee,  Lord,  and 
Mary,  that  is  mildest  mother  so  dear,  for 
some  harbour  where  I  might  properly  hear 
mass  and  thy  matins  tomorrow.   Meekly  I 
ask  it,  and  thereto  earnestly  I  pray  my  pater 
and  ave  and  creed."   He  rode  in  his  prayer 
and  lamented  for  his  misdeeds.   Oft-times 
he  blessed  himself,  and  said,  "  Christ's  cross 
speed  me." 

12.  The  hero  had   not  crossed  himself 
more  than  thrice  ere  he  was  aware  in  the 


SIR  GAWAIN  AND  THE  GREEN  KNIGHT 


wood  of  a  dwelling  on  a  hill,  above  a  clear- 
ing, on  a  mount,  hidden  under  the  boughs 
of  many  a  huge  tree  about  the  ditches;  a 
castle  the  comeliest  that  ever  knight  owned, 
set  on  a  prairie,  a  park  all  about,  with  its 
beautiful  palace,  pinnacled  full  thick,  and 
surrounded  with  many  a  tree  for  more  than 
two  miles.  The  hero  gazed  at  the  castle  on 
that  one  side  as  it  shimmered  and  shone 
through  the  fair  oaks.  Then  he  humbly 
doffed  his  helm  and  devoutly  he  thanked 
Jesus  and  St.  Julian  —  who  are  both  gentle 
—  who  courteously  had  directed  biui  and 
barkened  to  his  cry.  "Now  bon  hostel," 
quoth  the  man,  "I  beseech  you  yet !  "  Then 
he  spurs  Griugolet  with  his  gilt  heels,  and  he 
full  fortunately  takes  the  way  to  the  chief 
road,  that  soon  brought  the  hero  to  the  bridge- 
end  iu  haste.  The  bridge  was  securely  lifted, 
the  gates  locked  fast ;  the  walls  were  well 
arrayed  ;  no  wind  blast  did  it  fear. 

13.  The  hero  that  sat  on  his  horse,  abode 
on  the  bank  of  the  deep  double  ditch  that 
stretched  to  the  place.   The  wall  sank  in  the 
water  wondrous  deep,  and  again  a  full  huge 
height  it  towered  aloft,  of  hard  hewn  stone 
up  to  the  top  courses,  corbelled  under  the 
battlement  in  the  best  manner  ;  and  above 
fine  watch-towers  ranged  along,  with  many 
good  loop-holes  that  showed  full  clean.   A 
better  barbican  that  hero  never  looked  upon. 
And  farther  within  he  beheld  the  high  hall, 
with  towers  set  full  thickly  about,  and  fair 
and  wondrous  high  filioles  with  carved  tops 
cunningly  devised.    Chalk-white  chimneys 
enough  he  saw  that  gleamed  full  white  on 
the  battlements.  So  many  painted  pinnacles 
were  set  everywhere,  built  so  thick  among 
the  crenellations  of  the  castle,  that  it  verily 
appeared  cut  out  of  paper.   Fair  enough  it 
seemed  to  the  noble  knight  on  his  horse  if 
he  could  only  attain  the  shelter  within,  to 
harbour  in  that  hostel,  while  the  holiday 
lasted.  He  called,  and  soon  there  appeared 
on  the  wall  a  right  pleasant  porter  who  took 
his  message  and  greeted  the  knight  errant. 

14.  "  Good  sir,"  quoth  Gawain,  "  would 
you  go  my  errand  to  the  high  lord  of  this 
house  to  crave  harbour  ?  " 

"  Yea,  by  Peter,"  quoth  the  porter;  "and 
truly  I  trow  that  ye  are  welcome,  sir,  to 
dwell  while  you  like." 

Then  the  man  went  again  quickly,  and 
a  crowd  of  folk  with  him,  to  receive  the 
knight.  They  let  down  the  great  draw  and 


eagerly  poured  out,  and  kneeled  down  on 
their  knees  upon  the  cold  earth  to  welcome 
the  hero  as  it  seemed  to  them  proper.  They 
opened  up  wide  the  broad  gate  for  him  and 
he  raised  them  courteously,  and  rode  over 
the  bridge.  Several  attendants  held  his 
saddle  while  he  alighted,  and  afterwards 
good  men  enough  stabled  his  steed.  Then 
knights  and  squires  came  down  to  bring  this 
hero  joyfully  into  the  hall.  When  he  lifted 
up  his  helm  people  enough  hurried  to  take 
it  at  his  hand,  in  order  to  serve  the  courte- 
ous one ;  his  sword  and  his  shield  they  took 
too.  Then  he  greeted  full  courteously  the 
knights  each  one ;  and  many  a  proud  man 
pressed  there  to  honour  that  prince.  All 
hasped  in  his  high  weeds,  they  led  him  to 
the  hall,  where  a  fair  fire  burned  fiercely 
upon  the  hearth.  Then  the  lord  of  the 
people  came  from  his  chamber  to  meet 
courteously  the  man  on  the  floor.  He  said, 
"  Ye  are  welcome  to  wield  as  you  like  what 
is  here;  all  is  your  own  to  have  at  your  will 
and  commandment."  "Gramercy,"  quoth 
Gawain.  "  Christ  reward  you  for  it."  Like 
glad  heroes  either  folded  the  other  hi  his 
arms. 

15.  Gawain  looked  on  the  man  who 
greeted  him  so  goodly,  and  thought  it  a  bold 
hero  that  owned  the  castle,  a  huge  warrior 
for  the  nonce,  and  of  great  age.  Broad  and 
bright  was  his  beard,  and  all  beaver-hued. 
Firm-gaited  was  he  on  his  stalwart  limbs; 
with  a  face  as  fierce  as  fire,  and  a  free  speech; 
and  to  the  hero  he  seemed  well  suited  in- 
deed to  govern  a  nation  of  good  people. 

The  lord  turned  to  a  chamber  and 
promptly  commanded  to  give  Gawain  a 
retinue  to  serve  him  in  lowly  wise;  and 
there  were  ready  at  his  bidding  men  enough, 
who  brought  him  to  a  bright  bower  where 
the  bedding  was  curtains  of  pure  silk  with 
clear  gold  hems,  and  covertures  right  curi- 
ous with  comely  borders,  adorned  above 
with  bright  fur.  Curtains  running  on  ropes, 
red  gold  rings,  tapestries  of  Toulouse  and 
Tars  hung  on  the  wall,  and  under  foot  on 
the  floor  of  the  same  pattern.  There  with 
mirthful  speeches  the  hero  was  despoiled  of 
his  burnie  and  of  his  bright  weeds.  Quickly 
men  brought  him  rich  robes  that  ho  might 
pick  and  choose  the  best  for  his  change.  As 
soon  as  he  took  one  and  was  wrapped  therein, 
that  sat  upon  him  seemlywith  sailing  skirts, 
the  hero  by  his  visage  verily  seemed  to  well 


SIR  GAWAIN  AND  THE  GREEN  KNIGHT 


nigh  every  man  iu  looks  glowing  and  lovely 
in  all  his  limbs;  it  seemed  to  them  that 
C  hrist  never  made  a  comelier  knight.  Wher- 
ever in  the  world  he  were,  it  seemed  as  if 
he  might  be  a  prince  without  peer  in  the 
field  where  fell  men  fight. 

16.  A  chair  before  the  chimney,1  where 
charcoal  burned,  was  prepared  for  Sir  Ga- 
wain  richly  with  cloths  and  cushions,  upon 
counterpanes  that  were  both  fine.  And  then 
a  beauteous  mantle  was  cast  on  the  man,  of  a 
brown  fabric  richly  embroidered,  and  fairly 
furred  within  with  the  best  skins,  all  of 
ermine;  the  hood  of  the  same.  And  he  sat 
on  that  settle  in  seemly  rich  attire,  and 
warmed  him  thoroughly;  and  then  his  cheer 
mended.   Soon  a  table  was  raised  up  on 
trestles  full  fair,  and  set  with  a  clean  cloth 
that  showed  clear  white,  napkins,  salt-cel- 
lar, and  silver  spoons.    The  hero  washed 
when  he  would  and  went  to  his  meat.  Men 
served  him  seemly  enough,  —  double  fold 
as  was  proper  — with  pottages  various  and 
suitable,  seasoned  in  the  best  manner;  and 
many  kinds  of  fish,  some  baked  in  bread, 
some  broiled  on  the  coals,  some  boiled,  some 
in  sauces  savoured  with  spices;  and  always 
discourse  so  pleasant  that  it  pleased   the 
warrior.   Full  freely  and  often   the  hero 
called  it  a  feast  right  courteously,  when  all 
the  retainers  together  praised  him  as  cour- 
teous.2   "  Do  this  penance  now,  and  soon 
things  will  be  better  !  "   Right  mirthful  was 
he  for  the  wine  that  went  to  his  head. 

17.  Then  they  questioned  and  inquired 
sparingly  in  skilful  queries  put  to  the  prince 
himself,  till  he  courteously  acknowledged 
that    he    was   of   the   court  which   noble 
Arthur  holds  alone,  who  is  the  rich,  royal 
king  of  the  Round  Table;  and  that  it  was 
Gawain  himself  that  sits  in  the  house,  by 
chance  come  for  that  Christmas.  When  the 
lord  had  learned  that  he  had  that  hero,  he 
laughed  aloud,  so  dear  it  seemed  to  him; 
and  all  the  men  in  the  castle  made  much 
joy  at  appearing  promptly  in  the  presence 
of  him  who  contains  in  his  own  person  all 

>  In  the  old  meaning  of  fireplace,  fire-back,  or  grate. 

1  Possibly  the  host,  and  not  Gawain,  is  the  subject  of 
this  sentence,  which  then  might  be  translated  :  "  Full 
freely  and  oft  the  host  called  it  a  feast  (i.e.  made  the 
1  easier  welcome)  right  courteously,  when  all  the  retain- 
ers praised  him  (Gawain  or  the  host  ?)  as  courteous." 
In  the  next  two  sentences  the  host  is  pretty  certainly 
the  subject.  With  this  interpretation  cf.  Macbeth,  m,  4, 
33  :  "  The  feast  is  sold  that  is  not  often  vouch'd,  while 
'tis  a-makiug,  'tis  given  with  welcome." 


worth  and  prowess  and  gracious  traits,  and 
is  ever  praised;  above  all  the  men  in  the 
world  his  renown  is  the  greatest.  Each 
warrior  said  full  softly  to  his  companion  — 
"  Now  shall  we  see  courteous  turns  of  be- 
haviour, and  the  blameless  forms  of  noble 
talking;  what  profit  there  is  in  speech  may 
we  learn  without  asking  since  we  have  taken 
that  fine  father  of  nurture.  God  has  indeed 
given  us  his  grace,  who  grants  us  to  have 
such  a  guest  as  Gawain,  on  account  of  whose 
birth  men  sit  and  sing  for  joy.  This  hero 
will  now  teach  us  what  distinguished  man- 
ners are;  I  think  that  those  who  hear  him 
will  learn  how  to  make  love." 

18.  When  the  dinner  was  done  and  the 
dear  ones  risen,  the  time  was  nigh  arrived 
at  the  night.  Chaplains  took  their  way  to 
the  chapels,  and  rang  full  loudly,  as  they 
should,  to  the  melodious  evensong  of  the  high 
time.  The  lord  turns  thither,  and  the  lady 
also.  Into  a  comely  closet  daintily  she  enters. 
Gawain  joyfully  proceeds,  and  goes  thither 
straightway.  The  lord  takes  him  by  the 
mantle  and  leads  him  to  his  seat,  recognizes 
him  openly  and  calls  him  by  his  name,  and 
says  he  is  the  welcomest  wight  in  the  world. 
And  Gawain  thanked  him  thoroughly  and 
either  embraced  the  other,  and  they  sat  so- 
berly together  during  the  service.  Then  the 
lady  desired  to  look  on  the  knight,  and  came 
from  her  closet  with  many  fair  maidens. 
But  she  was  fairer  than  all  the  others  in 
flesh  and  face,  in  skin  and  form,  in  com- 
plexion and  demeanour  —  more  beautiful 
than  Guinevere,  it  seemed  to  the  hero.  He 
walked  through  the  chancel  to  greet  that 
gracious  one.  Another  lady  led  her  by  the 
left  hand,  that  was  older  than  she ;  an  ancient 
lady  it  seemed,  and  one  highly  honoured 
by  the  knights  about  her;  but  unlike  to  look 
on  were  the  ladies,  for  if  the  younger  was 
fair,  yellow  was  the  other.  Rich  red  on  the 
one  bloomed  everywhere  ;  rough  wrinkled 
cheeks  rolled  on  the  other.  The  kerchiefs 
of  the  one  broidered  with  many  clear  pearls, 
openly  displayed  her  breast  and  her  bright 
throat,  which  shone  clearer  than  snow  that 
falls  on  the  hills.  The  other  covered  her 
neck  with  a  gorget,  that  wrapped  her  black 
chin  in  milk-white  pleats.  Her  forehead 
was  completely  enveloped  in  silken  folds, 
adorned  and  tricked  8  with  small  ornaments; 

1  The  precise,  but  not  the  general,  meaning  of  the 
two  participles  is  uncertain. 


SIR  GAWAIN  AND  THE  GREEN  KNIGHT 


and  naught  was  bare  of  that  lady  but  the 
black  brows,  the  two  eyes,  the  nose,  and  the 
naked  lips  ;  and  those  were  ugly  to  behold 
and  oddly  bleared.  A  gracious  lady  in  the 
land  one  might  call  her  forsooth  !  Her  body 
was  short  and  thick,  her  hips  round l  and 
broad.  More  pleasant  to  look  on  was  the 
being  she  led. 

19.  When  Gawain  looked  on  that  beau- 
teous one  who  gazed  graciously,  he  took 
leave  of  the  lord,  and  went  toward  them. 
The  elder  he  saluted,  bowing  full  low;  the 
lovelier  he   took  a  little  in  his  arms;  he 
kissed  her  comely,  and  knightly  he  greeted 
her.  They  welcomed  him,  and  he  quickly 
asked  to  be  their  servant  if  it  pleased  them. 
They  took  him  between  them  and  led  him 
conversing  to  the  fireplace  in  the  parlour; 
and  straightway  they   called    for    spices, 
which  men  speeded  to  bring  them  unspar- 
ingly, and  the  pleasant  wine  therewith  each 
time.  The  lord  leaped  merrily  up  full  often, 
and  saw  to  it  that  the  mirth  never  faltered. 
Gaily  he  snatched  off  his  hood  and  hung  it 
on  a  spear,  and  exhorted  them  to  win  it  as 
a  prize  —  he  to  have  it2  who  could  make 
the  most  mirth  that  Christmas  tide.  "And 
I  shall  try,  by  my  faith,  with  the  help  of  my 
friends*  to  compete  with  the  best,  ere  I  lose 
my  apparel."  Thus  with  laughing  mien  the 
lord   makes   merry  in   order  to   glad   Sir 
Gawain  with  games  in  the  hall  that  night. 
When  it  came  time,  the  king  commanded 
lights;  Sir  Gawain  took  his  leave  and  went 
to  his  bed. 

20.  On   the  morn   when   as  every  man 
knows   God   was   born  to  die  for  us,  joy 
waxes  in  every  dwelling  in  the  world  for 
his  sake.  So  it  did  there  on  that  day,  with 
many  dainties  at  meats  and  meals,  right 
quaint  dishes,  and  brave  men  on  the  dais 
dressed  in  their  best.  The  old  ancient  wife 
sits  the  highest,  the  courteous  lord  placed 
by  her,  as  I  trow;  Gawain  and  the  gay  lady 
together  just  in  the  middle,  as  the  courses4 
properly   come;   and   afterwards   the   rest 
throughout  all  the  hall,  as  it  seemed  best 
to  them,  each  man  in  his  degree  was  prop- 
erly served.  There  was  meat,  there  was 

i  The  meaning  of  bay  Is  doubtful. 
1  These  four  words  supplied. 

•  Thin  phrase  may  go  with  "  lose,"  thus  aggravating 
the  joke. 

*  This  word  (meur)  can  refer  to  the  courses  (the 
food),  or  to  the  "  mess  "  (the  two  persons  eating  to- 
gether, i.e.  using  the  same  goblet,  platter,  etc.). 


mirth,  there  was  much  joy,  that  it  were 
arduous  for  me  to  tell  thereof,  though  to 
note  it  I  took  pains  belike.5  But  yet  I  know 
that  Gawain  and  the  lovely  lady  took  com- 
fort in  each  other's  company,  in  the  choice 
play  of  their  sharp  wits,  and  the  pure  cour- 
tesy of  their  modest  talk ;  their  disport  sur- 
passed indeed  that  of  any  royal  game. 
Trumps  and  drums  came  playing  loudly; 
each  man  minded  his  own  business,  and  they 
two  minded  theirs. 

21.  Much  delight  was  taken  there  that 
day,  and  the  second;  and  the  third  followed 
as  pleasantly.     The  joy  of  St.  John's  day 
was  gentle  to  hear  of;  and  it  was  the  last  of 
the  festival,  the  people  considered.  There 
were  guests   to  go  upon  the  grey  morn; 
therefore  wondrous  late  they  sat  up  and 
drank  the   wine,  danced  full  gayly  with 
sweet  carols.  At  the  last,  when  it  was  late, 
they  took  their  leave,  each  good  man  to 
wend  on  his  way.  Gawain   gave   his  host 
good  day;  but  the  good  man  takes  him,  and 
leads  him  to  his  own  chamber,  by  the  fire- 
place; and  there  he  draws  him  aside  and 
properly  thanks  him  for  the  great  worship 
that  he  had  granted  him  in  honouring  hia 
house  on  that  high  tide,  in  embellishing  his 
castle  with  his  good  cheer.  "Indeed,  sir, 
while  I  live  I  shall  be  the  better  that  Gawain 
has  been  my  guest  at  God's  own  feast." 

"  Gramercy,  sir,"  quoth  Gawain,  "  in  good 
faith  the  merit  is  yours;  all  the  honour 
is  your  own,  —  the  high  King  reward  you; 
and  I  am  your  man  to  work  your  behest  in 
high  and  in  low  as  I  am  bound  by  right." 

The  lord  eagerly  strives  to  hold  the  knight 
longer;  but  Gawain  answers  him  that  he 
can  in  no  wise. 

22.  Then  the  hero  asked  of  him   full 
fairly  what  extraordinary  deed  had  driven 
him  at  that  dear  time  from  the  king's  court, 
to  go  all  alone  so  boldly,  ere  the  holidays 
were  wholly  over. 

"  For  sooth,  sir,"  quoth  the  hero,  "  ye 
say  but  the  truth;  a  high  errand  and  a 
hasty  had  me  from  these  dwellings;  for  I 
am  summoned  to  such  a  place  as  I  know 
not  in  the  world  whitherward  to  wend  to 
find  it.  I  would  not  for  all  the  land  in 
Logres  fail  to  reach  it  on  New  Year's  morn 
—  so  our  Lord  help  me.  Therefore,  sir, 

'  Tho  clause  literally  translated  is  ingignificant ;  we 
expect  something  like  "and  yet  I  should  (all  for  all  my 
pains." 


SIR  GAWAIN  AND  THE  GREEN  KNIGHT 


this  request  I  require  of  you  here,  that  ye 
tell  ine  truly  if  ever  ye  heard  tale  of  the 
green  chapel,  where  in  the  world  it  stands, 
and  of  the  knight  green  in  colour  that  keeps 
it.  There  was  established  by  statute  an 
agreement  between  us  that  I  should  meet 
that  man  at  that  landmark  if  I  could  but 
survive.  And  of  that  same  New  Year  there 
now  lacks  but  little,  and  by  God's  Son  I 
would  gladlier  look  on  that  person  —  if 
God  would  let  me  —  than  wield  any  posses- 
sion in  the  world.  Therefore,  indeed  —  by 
your  good  will  —  it  behooves  me  to  wend; 
I  have  now  at  my  disposal  barely  three 
days;  and  I  were  as  fain  fall  dead  as  fail  of 
mine  errand." 

Then  laughing  quoth  the  lord,  "Now  it 
behooves  thee  to  stay ;  for  I  shall  direct  you 
to  that  spot  by  the  time's  end  —  the  green 
chapel  upon  the  ground.  Grieve  you  no 
more;  for  ye  shall  be  in  your  bed,  sir,  at 
thine  ease  some  days  yet,  and  set  out  on 
the  first  of  the  year  and  come  to  that  place 
at  mid-morn,  to  do  what  you  like.  Stay  till 
New  Year's  day;  and  rise  and  go  then. 
One  shall  set  you  on  your  way;  it  is  not 
two  miles  hence." 

23.  Then  was  Gawain  full  glad,  and 
merrily  he  laughed;  "  Now  I  thank  you  es- 
pecially for  this  above  all  other  things ;  now 
that  my  quest  is  achieved,  I  shall  dwell 
at  your  will,  and  do  whatever  else  ye  de- 
cide." 

Then  the  sire  seized  him  and  set  him  be- 
side him,  and  let  the  ladies  be  fetched  to 
please  them  the  better.  Fair  entertainment 
they  had  quietly  among  themselves;  the 
lord  in  his  jovial,  friendly  demeanor  be- 
haved as  a  man  out  of 1  his  wits  that  knew 
not  what  he  did.  Then  he  spake  to  the 
knight,  crying  loud,  "  Ye  have  agreed  to 
do  the  deed  that  I  bid.  Will  ye  hold  this 
hest  here  at  once  ?  " 

"  Yea,  sir,  forsooth,"  said  the  true  hero, 
"  while  I  stay  in  your  castle  I  shall  be  obe- 
dient to  your  hest." 

"Since  ye  have  travelled  from  afar," 
quoth  the  warrior,  "  and  then  have  sat  late 
with  me,  ye  are  not  well  nourished,  I  know, 
either  with  sustenance  or  with  slepp.  Ye 
shall  linger  in  your  loft  and  lie  at  your  ease 
tomorrow  till  mass  time;  and  go  to  meat 
when  ye  will  with  my  wife,  who  shall  sit 

1  Wolde  in  the  text  is  translated  as  a  corruption  of 
•ome  such  word  as  "  was  lacking,"  or  "  wandered." 


with  you  and  comfort  you  with  her  com« 
pany  till  I  return  home;  and  I  shall  rise 
early  and  go  hunting."  Gawain  grants  all 
this,  bowing  courteously. 

24.  "Yet  further,"  quoth  the  hero,  "let  us 
make  an  agreement.  Whatsoever  I  win  in 
the  wood,  it  shall  be  yours;  and  whatsoever 
fortune  ye  achieve,  exchange  with  me  there- 
for. Sweet  sir,  swap  we  so,  swear  truly, 
whichever  one  of  us  gets  the  worse  or  the 
better." 

"  By  God,"  quoth  Gawain  the  good,  "  I 
consent  thereto;  and  whatever  game  you 
like,  agreeable  it  seems  to  me." 

"On  this  beverage  just  brought  the  bar- 
gain is  made,"  said  the  lord  of  that  people; 
and  both  laughed. 

Then  they  drank  and  played  and  amused2 
themselves,  these  lords  and  ladies,  so  long 
as  it  pleased  them;  and  then  with  polite 
demeanour  and  many  fair  gestures,  they 
stood  up  and  lingered  a  while,  and  talked 
quietly,  kissed  full  comely,  and  took  their 
leave.  With  many  a  gay  servant  and  gleam- 
ing torches  each  hero  was  brought  to  his 
bed  full  softly  at  the  last.  Yet  before  they 
went  to  bed  they  oft  rehearsed  the  cove- 
nants. The  old  lord  of  that  people  knew 
well  how  to  keep  up  a  jest. 

FYTTE  THE   THIRD 

1.  Full  early  before  the  day  the  folk 
arose ;  the  guests  that  would  go  called  their 
grooms,  and  these  hastened  to  saddle  the 
horses,  arrange  their  gear,  and  truss  their 
mails.  The  great  ones  arrayed  themselves 
to  ride,  leaped  up  lightly  and  caught  their 
bridles,  each  wight  on  his  way  where  it 
well  pleased  him. 

The  dear  lord  of  the  land  was  not  the 
last;  arrayed  for  the  riding,  with  retainers 
full  many,  he  ate  a  sop 8  hastily  after  he 
had  heard  mass,  and  took  his  way  quickly 
with  his  bugle  to  the  field.  By  the  time 
that  any  daylight  gleamed  upon  earth,  he 
with  his  heroes  were  mounted  on  their  high 
horses.  Then  these  hunters  that  understood 
it,  coupled  their  hounds,  unclosed  the  ken- 
nel doors  and  called  them  thereout,  blew 
blithely  on  bugles  three  simple  calls.  At 
this  the  brachets  4  bayed  and  made  a  wild 
noise,  and  the  hunters  chastised  and  turned 

»  Word  doubtful.  •  Took  a  light  repast. 

*  Hounds  that  hunt  by  scent. 


SIR  GAWAIN   AND  THE  GREEN   KNIGHT 


back  those  that  wandered  off,  —  a  hundred 
hunters  of  the  best  there  were,  as  I  have 
heard  tell.  To  their  stations  the  trackers 
went;  hunters  cast  off  the  couples  ;  and  then 
arose  for  the  good  blasts  great  uproar  in 
that  forest. 

2.  At  the  first  noise  of  the  quest  the 
game  quaked;  the  deer  moved  down  into 
the  dale,  dazed  for  dread;  hurried  to  the 
height;  but  quickly  they  were  hindered  by 
the  beaters,  who  cried  stoutly.  They  let  the 
harts  with  the  high  heads  go  their  way,  the 
wild  bucks  also  with  their  broad  palms,1 
for  the  generous  lord  had  forbiddeu  that 
there  should  any  man  meddle   with   the 
male  deer  in  the  close  season.  But  the  hinds 
were  held  back  with  "Hay!"  and  "Ho!" 
and  the  does  driven  with  great  din  to  the 
deep  glades.    There  might  one  see  as  they 
ran  the  flight  of  arrows;  at  each  turn  under 
the  boughs  out  flew  a  shaft,  that  savagely 
bit  on  the  brown  hide  with  full  broad  heads. 
How  they  leaped  and  bled  and  died  by  the 
banks !  And  ever  the  hounds  with  a  rush 
eagerly  followed  them;  hunters  with  shrill 
horn  hastened  after  with  such  a  resound- 
ing cry  as  if  cliffs  had  cracked.  What  game 
escaped  the  men  who  shot  was  all  run  down 
and  torn  at  the  stands.    The  deer2  were 
pestered  at  the  heights,  and  worried  at  the 
waters;  the  people  were  so  alert  at  the  low 
stations,  and  the  greyhounds  so  great,  that 
got  them  quickly  and  pulled  them  down  as 
fast  as  a  man  could  see.  The  lord,  shouting 
for  joy,  shot   and   alighted   full   oft,  and 
passed  the  day  thus  with  joy  till  the  dark 
night. 

3.  So  this  lord  sports  by  the  eaves  of  the 
linden  wood,  and  Gawain  the  good  man  lies 
in  his  gay  bed;  reposes  till  the  day  light 
gleams  on  the  walls,  under  the  beautiful 
coverlets,  curtained  about.  And  as  he  fell 
into  a  doze,  faintly  he  heard  a  little  din  at 
the  door,  then  distinctly;8  and  he  heaved 
up  his  head  out  of  the  clothes,  caught  up  a 
corner  of  his  curtain  a  little,  and  watched 
warily  in  that  direction  to  see  what  it  might 
be.  It  was  the  lady,  loveliest  to  behold,  who 
drew  the  door  to  after  her  right  slyly  and 
quietly,  and  turned  toward  the  bed.   The 
hero  grew  bashful  and  laid  himself  down 
cunningly  and  pretended  that  he  slept.  And 
she  stepped  quietly,  and  stole  to  his  bed, 

i  The  fiat,  broad  part  of  the  horn. 

*  Subject  supplied.  '  Meaning  not  quite  sure. 


cast  up  the  curtain,  and  crept  within,  and 
seated  herself  full  softly  on  the  bedside, 
and  stayed  there  surprisingly  long,  to  see 
when  he  should  awake.  The  man  lay  pre- 
tending a  full  great  while,  bothered  in  his 
conscience  what  this  affair  might  mean  or 
amount  to.  Marvellous  it  seemed  to  him. 
But  yet  he  said  to  himself,  "  More  seemly 
would  it  be  to  find  out  by  asking  what  she 
would."  Then  he  waked,  and  stretched,  and 
turned  to  her ;  unlocked  his  eyelids,  and 
made  believe  he  was  amazed,  and  crossed 
himself  with  his  hand,  to  be  the  safer  for 
his  prayer.  With  chin  and  cheek  full  sweet, 
of  mingled  white  and  red,  right  lovely  she 
looked,  with  her  small  laughing  lips. 

4.  "  Good  morrow,  Sir  Gawain  ! "  said 
that  fair  lady.  "  Ye  are  a  careless  sleeper 
when  one  can  enter  thus.  Now  ye  are  cer- 
tainly taken;  unless  we  can  make  a  truce 
I  shall  bind  you  in  your  bed,  ye  may  be 
sure  of  that ! "  All  laughing  the  lady  shot 
those  jests. 

"  Good  morrow,  fair  one,"  quoth  Gawain 
the  blithe.  "  I  shall  be  at  your  disposal,  and 
that  pleases  me  well,  for  I  yield  me  out- 
right and  pray  for  grace,  —  and  that  is  the 
best  course,  I  judge,  for  I  am  in  straits." 
And  thus  he  returned  the  jests  with  many 
a  blithe  langh.  "  But  would  ye,  lovely  lady, 
grant  me  leave,  free  4  your  prisoner  and  bid 
him  rise,  I  would  leave  this  bed  and  dress 
myself  better.  Then  I  could  talk  with  you 
in  more  comfort." 

"  Nay,  forsooth,  fair  sir,"  said  that  sweet 
one,  "ye  shall  not  rise  from  your  bed;  I 
shall  manage  you  better.  I  shall  tie  you 
up  securely,5  and  afterwards  talk  with  my 
knight  that  I  have  caught ;  for  I  ween  well, 
ye  are  indeed  Sir  Gawain,  whom  all  the 
world  worships  whereso  ye  ride.  Your 
honour,  your  courtesy,  is  heartily  praised, 
by  lords,  by  ladies,  by  all  alive;  and  now 
ye  are  here,  forsooth,  and  we  all  alone.  My 
lord  and  his  people  are  gone  far  away;  the 
other  men  in  their  beds,  and  my  maidens 
also;  the  door  shut  and  closed  with  a  strong 
hasp;  and  since  I  have  in  this  house  him 
whom  all  like,  I  shall  make  good  use  of  my 
time  while  it  lasts.  Ye  are  welcome  to  my 
person,  to  do  whatever  you  wish;  I  am  per- 
force, and  must  remain,  your  servant." 

4  Meaning  doubtful. 

'  A  mere  guess :  the  line  appears  to  be  literally  "  I 
•ball  cover  you  here  the  other  half  also." 


i6 


SIR  GAWAIN  AND  THE  GREEN  KNIGHT 


5.  "  In  good  faith,"  quoth  Gawain,  "  a 
great  privilege  it  seems  to  me  —  though  I 
be  not  now  he  that  ye  speak  of.  To  reach 
such  reverence  as  ye  rehearse  here,  I  am  a 
man  unworthy,  I  know  well.  By  God,  I 
should  be  glad  —  if  it  seemed  good  to  you 

—  to  do  what  I  might  in  speech  or  in  serv- 
ice to  enhance  your  worship;1  —  it  were  a 
pure  joy." 

"  In  good  faith,  Sir  Gawain,"  quoth  the 
gay  lady,  "  if  I  should  speak  ill  of  the  fame 
and  the  prowess  that  pleases  all  others,  or 
esteem  it  light,  it  would  show  but  small 
discernment.*  But  there  are  ladies  enough 
who  were  liefer  have  this  courteous  one  in 
their  power  —  as  I  have  thee  here,  —  to 
dally  dearly  with  your  dainty  words,  to 
comfort  themselves  and  dispel  their  cares, 

—  than  much  of  the  treasure  and  gold  that 
they  have.  But  I  praise  the  Lord  who  rules 
the  skies  that  through   his  grace  I  have 
wholly  in  my  hand  that  which  all  desire." 

Great  cheer  she  that  was  so  fair  of  face 
made  him;  the  knight  with  discreet  speeches 
answered  her  every  proposal. 

6.  "Madame,"  quoth  the  merry  man, 
"Mary  reward  you,  for  in  good  faith  I 
have  found  your  generosity  noble.  People 
judge  a  person's  deeds  largely  from  the  ac- 
counts of  others;3  but  the  praise  that  they 
accord  my  deserts  is  but  idle.  It  is  simply 
your  own  nobility,  who  know  nothing  but 
good." 

"By  Mary,"  quoth  the  gracious  one, 
"  methinks  it  is  otherwise ;  for  were  I 
worth  all  the  store  of  women  alive,  and  all 
the  wealth  of  the  world  were  in  my  hands, 
and  I  should  bargain  and  choose  to  get  me 
a  lord,  then  for  the  good  traits  that  I 
have  found  in  the  knight  here,  of  beauty 
and  graciousness  and  gay  seeming,  and 
from  what  I  have  heard  before  and  hold 
in  this  case  to  be  true,  there  should  no  hero 
in  the  world  be  chosen  before  you." 

"Indeed,  worthy  one,"  quoth  the  hero, 
"ye  might*  have  chosen  much  better;  but 
I  am  proud  of  the  estimation  that  ye  put 
upon  me;  and  as  your  devoted  servant  I 
hold  you  my  sovereign,  and  your  knight 
I  become;  and  Christ  pay  you  for  it." 

Thus  they  spoke  of  various  things  till 
past  the  midmoru;  and  ever  the  lady  be- 

1  The  passage  is  none  too  clear. 

'  The  last  clause  is  obscure  in  the  text. 

*  The  passage  is  obscure.        «  "  might "  supplied* 


liaved  as  if  she  loved  him  much.  But  the 
hero  fared  with  caution  and  made  courteous 
pretences.  "  Though  I  were  the  fairest  of 
women,"  mused  the  lady, "  little  love  would 
he  show,  because  of  the  danger  that  he  seeks 
without  reproach  —  the  blow  that  may  slay 
him,  but  must  needs  be  undergone."  The 
lady  then  asked  leave,  and  he  granted  her 
full  soon. 

7.  Then  she  gave  him  good  day,  and  of 
a  sudden  laughed;  and  as  she  stood  there 
she  astonished  him  with  right  sharp  words: 
"  Now  may  he  that  speeds  each  speech,  pay 
you  for  this  entertainment;  but  that  ye  are 
Gawaiii,  it  goes  not  in  my  mind."  5 

"  Wherefore  ?  "  quoth  the  hero;  and 
eagerly  he  asks,  afraid  lest  he  had  failed 
in  the  performance  of  his  design.6  But  the 
lady  blessed  him  and  spake  in  this  wise: 
"A  man  as  good  as  Gawain  is  properly 
held  —  and  courtesy  is  closed  so  entirely 
in  him  —  could  not  easily  have  lingered  so 
long  with  a  lady  but  he  had  on  some  trifling 
excuse  or  other7  courteously  craved  a  kiss." 

Then  said  Gawain,  "  Indeed,  be  it  as  you 
like;  I  shall  kiss  at  your  commandment  as 
becomes  a  knight,  and  fear8  lest  he  dis- 
please you;  so  urge  that  plea  no  more." 
She  comes  nearer  at  that  and  takes  him 
in  her  arms;  stoops  graciously  down  and 
kisses  the  man.  They  courteously  entrust 
each  other  to  Christ.  She  goes  forth  at  the 
door  without  more  ado,  and  he  prepares  to 
rise,  and  hurries  amain ;  calls  to  his  cham- 
berlain, chooses  his  weeds,  steps  forth 
blithely  to  mass  when  he  is  ready;  and  then 
he  goes  to  his  meat,  behaving  always  cour- 
teously, and  makes  merry  all  day  till  the 
bright  moon  rises.  Never  was  a  hero  fairer 
entertained  by  two  such  worthy  dames,  the 
older  and  the  younger.  Much  disport  they 
make  together. 

8.  And  ever  the  lord  of  the  land  is  bound 
on  his  sport,  to  hunt  in  holts  and  heath  at 
barren  hinds.  Such  a  sum  of  does  and  of 
other  deer  he  slew  there  by  the  time  the 
sun  was  low,  that  it  were  a  marvel  to  esti- 
mate. Then  eagerly  they  all  flocked  to- 
gether at  the  last;  and  quickly  of  the  slain 
deer  they  made  a  quarry.  The  leaders 

"  The  negative  is  supplied. 

•  Possibly,  "in  some  form  of  courtesy." 

'  Literally,  "  By  some  touch  of  some  trifle  at  some 
tale's  end." 

s  "  Fear"  is  an  emendation  by  Morris ;  the  clause  is 
obscure. 


SIR  GAWAIN  AND  THE  GREEN  KNIGHT 


hastened  thereto  with  men  enough;  gath- 
ered the  greatest  of  grease,1  and  proceeded 
properly  to  undo  2  them  as  the  occasion  de- 
mands. Some  that  were  there  tried  them 
at  the  assay 8  and  found  two  fingers  of  fat 
on  the  leanest  of  all.  Afterwards  they  slit 
the  slot,4  seized  the  arber,5  cut  it  free  with 
a  sharp  knife,  and  tied  it  8  up.  Next  they 
cut  down  along  the  four  limbs  and  rent  off 
the  hide;  then  they  opened  the  belly,  took 
out  the  paunch,  cutting  eagerly,  and  laid 
aside  the  knot.7  They  began  at  the  throat 
again  and  skilfully  divided  the  weasand 
from  the  windpipe  and  threw  out  the  guts. 
Then  they  cut  out  the  skoulders  with  their 
sharp  knives,  and  pulled  them  through  by  a 
little  hole,  so  as  to  have  whole  sides.  Next 
they  divided  the  breast,  and  cut  it  in  two; 
and  once  more  they  began  at  the  throat, 
split  the  beast  quickly  right  up  to  the  crotch, 
took  out  the  advancers,8  and  immediately 
severed  all  the  fillets  by  the  ribs,  and  took 
them  off  properly  along  the  backbone  even 
to  the  haunch,  —  all  of  which  hung  to- 
gether. Then  they  heaved  it  up  whole  and 
cut  it  off  there ;  and  that  they  took  for  the 
numbles,9  as  it  is  rightly  called.  At  the 
fork  of  the  thighs  they  cut  the  flaps  behind; 
hastily  they  hewed  the  carcass  in  two,  and 
severed  it  along  the  backbone. 

9.  Both  the  head  and  the  neck  they 
hewed  off  then,  and  afterwards  they 
sundered  the  sides  swiftly  from  the  chine, 
and  the  corbie's  fee 10  they  cast  in  a  green 
tree.  Then  they  pierced  either  thick  side 
through  by  the  rib,  and  hung  them  each  by 
the  bocks  of  the  haunches — each  man  for 
his  fee,  as  it  befell  him  to  have  it.  Upon  a 
skin  of  a  fair  beast  they  fed  their  hounds 
with  the  liver  and  the  lights,  the  leather 
of  the  paunches,  and  bread  brthod  in 
blood  mingled  thereamong.  Loudly  they 
blew  the  prize,  and  bayed  their  hounds; 
then  they  started  to  cfrry  home  their  ti.eat, 
blowii.g  full  stoutly  many  loud  notes.  By  the 

1  The  correct  hunting  term  for  "  the  fattest." 

>  Cut  up. 

<  Probihly  at  the  side  of  the  neck,  or  on  the  brisket. 

•  Probably  at  the  hollow  of  the  breast  bone. 

•  The  gullet  probably. 

•  The  tefiyrf.  is  presumably  the  "  arber  " ;  tho'igh  In 
L  2256  it  appear*  to  be  the  -kin  of  the  neck  or  nape. 

'  i.e.  the  entrails,  with  the  gullet  knotted  to  prevent 
the  fllth  from  escaping. 

•  This  titbit  is  sometimes  called  a  part  of  the  num- 

•  A  choice  cut ;  hence,  capriciously,  onr  humble-pie. 
»  A  bit  of  the  offal  for  the  crows. 


time  daylight  was  done  the  band  had  all 
arrived  at  the  comely  castle,  where  the 
knight  is  quietly  waiting  in  comfort  beside 
a  bright  fire.  When  the  lord  arrived  and 
Gawain  met  him,  there  was  joy  enough. 

10.  Then  the  lord  commanded  to  gather 
in  the  hall  all  the  household,  ai.d  both  the 
ladies  to  come  down  with  their  maids.  Be- 
fore all  the  folk  on  the  floor  he  bade  men 
fetch  his  venison  before  him;  and  all  in 
merry  sport  he  called  Gawain,  told  him  the 
number  of  the  choice  beasts,  and  showed 
him  the  fat  meat  cut  from  u  the  ribs ;  "  How 
like  you  this  play  ?  Have  I  won  the  prize  ? 
Have   I  properly  earned    thanks  by  my 
woodcraft?" 

"Yes,  indeed,"  quoth  the  other  hero; 
"here  is  the  fairest  store  that  I  saw  this 
seven  year  in  the  season  of  winter." 

"And  all  I  give  you,  Gawain,"  quoth 
the  host,  then;  "for  by  our  plighted  cov- 
enant yon  can  claim  it  as  your  own." 

"  That  is  true,"  replied  the  hero,  "  and  I 
say  to  you  the  same ;  I  too  have  won  this 
worthy  thing  within  doors;  and  I  am  sure 
that  with  quite  as  good  will  it  belongs  to 
you."  He  throws  his  arms  about  his  fair 
neck  and  kisses  him  as  courteously  as  he 
knew  how.  "  Take  you  there  my  merchan- 
dise; I  have  won  no  more;  though  I  should 
give  it  up  willingly  even  if  it  were  greater." 

"  It  is  good,  quoth  the  good  man; 
"gramercy  therefor.  Perchance  it  might 
be  better  if  you  would  tell  me  where  you 
won  this  same  favour  by  your  own  u  wit." 

"That  was  not  the  agreement,"  said  he; 
"  ask  me  no  more,  for  ye  have  got  all  that 
belongs  to  you,  be  sure  of  that. 

They  laughed  and  made  merry  in  low 
tones;  then  they  went  quickly  to  supper 
with  new  dainties  enough. 

11.  And  afterwards  as  they  sat  by  a  fire- 
place   in  a  chamber,  servants  poured  to 
them   oft   tie  choice  wine;  and  again  in 
their  jesting  they  agreed  to  make  the  same 
bargain  on  the  morning  that  they  made  be- 
fore, —  whatsoever   chance   betide   to  ex- 
change their  winnings  at  night  when  they 
met,  whatsoever  new  they  win.  They  made 
this  agreement  before  all  the  couit,  and 
the  beverage  was  brought  forth  merrily  at 
that  time.18   Then  at  length  they  politely 
took  leave;  and  everybody  hurried  to  bed. 

u  Literally  "upon."  «  Possessive  uncertain. 

u  A  drink  ratines  the  agreement  —  as  before. 


i8 


SIR  GAWAIN  AND  THE  GREEN  KNIGHT 


When  the  cock  had  crowed  and  cackled 
but  thrice,  the  lord  had  leaped  from  his 
bed;  likewise  his  followers  each  one,  so 
that  the  meat  aud  the  mass  were  promptly 
despatched,  and  the  troop  ready  for  the 
chase  in  the  wood  ere  any  day  sprang. 
With  hunters  and  horns  they  passed  through 
the  plains,  and  uncoupled  the  racing  hounds 
among  the  thorns. 

12.  Soon  they  heard  the  cry  of  the  dogs 
by  a  marsh  side.  The  huntsman  encouraged 
the   hounds  that  first  caught  the   scent, 
hurled  sharp  words  at  them  with  a  great 
noise.  The  hounds  that  heard  it  hastened 
thither  quickly,  and  fell  immediately  to  the 
scent,  forty  at  once.  Then  there  rose  such 
a  resounding  cry  of  gathered  hounds  that 
the  rocks  about  rang.  The  hunters  cheered 
them  with  horn  and  with  mouth;  then  all 
together  they  swung  in  a  troop  between  a 
pool  in  that  wood  and  a  wild  crag.  On  a 
hill,  beside  a  cliff  at  the  side  of  the  bog, 
where  the  rough  rock  was  rudely  fallen, 
they  fared  to  the  finding,  and  the  hunters 
after  them.  The  men  surrounded  both  the 
rock  and  the  hill,  because  they  knew  well 
that  he  was  within  them,  —  the  beast  that 
the  bloodhounds  were  proclaiming  there. 
Then  they  beat  on  the  bushes  and  bade 
him  rise  up,  and  he  savagely  rushed  out 
athwart  the  men,  the  most  formidable  of 
swine.    Long  since  had  he  left  the  herd 
on  account  of  his  age,  for  he  was  a  huge 
beast,  the  greatest  of  boars.    His  grinders 
when  he  grunted  grieved  many,  for  at  his 
first  burst  he  thrust  three  to  the  earth,  and 
sped  hastily  forth  at  great  speed  without 
respite.   And  they  hallooed  "  High  ! "  full 
loudly,  and  cried  "  Hay,  hay !  "  With  horns 
to  mouth  lustily  they  blew  the  recheat.1 
Many  were  the  merry  cries  of  men  and  of 
hounds  that  hastened  after  this  boar  with 
hue  and  cry  to  kill  him.  Full  oft  he  bides 
at  bay,  and  maims  the  pack  in  the  meldo. 
He  hurts  many  of  the  hounds  and  griev- 
ously they  howl  and  yell. 

13.  The  hunters  pushed  forward  then  to 
shoot  at  him,  aimed  at  him  with  their  ar- 
rows and  hit  him  often.  But  the  shafts  that 
struck  on  his  shields,2  give  way  at  the  pith, 
and  the  barbs  would  not  bite  on  his  brawn 
though  the  shaven  shafts  shivered  in  pieces; 
the  head  hopped  out  again  wheresoever  it 

i  A  call  for  collecting  the  hounds. 
*  The  tough  akin  of  the  flanks. 


hit.  But  when  the  dints  of  their  keen 
strokes  scared  him,  then  mad  for  destruc- 
tion he  rushed  on  the  men,  did  them  sore 
hurt  where  he  hurled  forth,  and  many  a  one 
grew  wary  thereat  and  gave  back  a  little. 
But  the  lord  on  a  light  horse  hurries  after 
him,  blowing  his  bugle  like  a  bold  hero. 
He  winds  the  recheat  as  he  rides  through 
thick  groves,  following  this  wild  swine 
till  the  sun  declined.  Thus  they  drive  on 
the  day  with  such  doings  while  our  lovely 
hero  lies  comfortably  in  his  bed  at  home  in 
clothes  full  rich  of  hue.  The  lady  did  not 
forget;  she  came  to  greet  him;  full  early 
she  was  by  him  to  change  his  mind. 

14.  She  comes  to  the  curtain  and  peeps 
at  the  knight.  Sir  Gawain  at  once  welcomes 
her  worthily,  and  she  returns  his  greeting 
right  promptly,  seats  herself  softly  by  his 
side,  laughs  openly,  and  with  a  lovely  look 
addresses  these  words  to  him:  "  Sir,  if  ye 
be  Gawain,  it  seems  to  me  a  very  strange 
thing  that  a  man  of  such  quality  should 
not  follow  the  conventions  of  good  society; 
and  should  after  making  acquaintance  with 
a  person  cast  him  utterly  from  his  mind. 
Thou  hast  already  forgotten  what  I  taught 
you  yesterday  in  the  best  language  that  I 
knew." 

"What  is  that?  "  quoth  the  hero.  "For- 
sooth I  know  not.  If  what  ye  say  be  true, 
I  am  to  blame." 

"  Yet  I  taught  you  about  kissing,"  re- 
plied the  fair  lady;  "wherever  a  counte- 
nance is  known,  quickly  to  claim  a  kiss; 
that  becomes  every  knight  who  practices 
courtesy." 

"  Cease  such  speech,  my  dear  lady,"  said 
the  ready  man.  "I  durst  not  claim  it  lest 
I  should  be  denied.  If  I  proposed  and  were 
refused,  I  should  certainly  be  wrong  in 
proffering." 

"  By  my  faith,"  quoth  the  lovely  dame, 
"  ye  cannot  be  refused.  Ye  are  strong 
enough  to  compel  it  by  strength  if  ye 
pleased,  supposing  any  were  so  ill-bred  as 
to  deny  you." 

"  Yea,  by  God,"  said  Gawain,  "  your 
speech  is  good;  but  violence  is  considered 
discourteous  among  my  people,  as  is  any 
gift  that  is  not  given  with  a  good  will.  I 
am  at  your  command  to  kiss  when  ye  like. 
Ye  may  begin  when  ye  please,  and  leave 
off  whenever  it  likes  you." 

The  lady  stoops  down  and  gracefully 


SIR  GAWAIN  AND  THE  GREEN  KNIGHT 


kisses  his  face.  They  converse  long  of  the 
fears  and  joys  of  loveV  . 

15.  "I  should  like  to  know  from  you, 
sir,"  said  the  peerless  lady,  "  if  it  vexes 
you  not,  —  what  might  be  the  reason  that  so 
young  and  so  gallant  person  as  ye  now  are, 
one  so  courteous  and  so  knightly  as  ye  are 
known  everywhere  to  be,  have  never  spoken 
of  love.1  For  in  relating  the  pains  of  trne 
knights,  the  chief  thing  praised  in  all  of 
chivalry  is  the  royal  sport  of  love,  —  and 
the  science  of  arms:  it  is  the  title,  token, 
and  text  of  their  works;  how  heroes  for 
their  true  love  adventured  their  lives,  en- 
dured for  their  sweethearts  doleful  hours, 
and  afterwards  avenged  themselves  by  their 
valour;  dispersed  their  care,  and   brought 
bliss  to  bower,  with  plenteous  rewards  for 
themselves.  And  ye  are  the  most  renowned 
knight  of  your  time;  your  fame  and  your 
worship  walks   everywhere, — and  now  I 
have  sat  by  you  here  two  separate  times, 
yet  have  I  never  beard  from  your  head  a 
single  word  that  pertained  at  all  to  love, 
less  or  more.  And  ye,  that  are  BO  courte- 
ous and   so  distinguished  in  your  vows, 
ought  willingly  to   show  and  teach  to   a 
young  thing  some  tokens  of  the  art  of  true 
love.  Why  are  ye  so  rude  who  are  so  praised? 
Is  it  that  ye  deem  me  too  dull  to  hearken 
to  your  dalliance?    For  shame!   I  came 
hither  all  alone  to  sit  and  learn  from  you 
some  accomplishment:  do  teach  me  part  of 
your  skill  while  my  lord  is  from  home." 

16.  "  In    good    faith,"   quoth   Gawain, 
"  God  reward  you  !   Great  is  the  entertain- 
ment, and  huge  the  pleasure  to  me,  that  so 
worthy  a  one  as  ye  should  come  hither,  and 
take  pains  with  so  poor  a  man,  and  play 
with  your  knight  in  any  wise;  it  delights 
me.   But  to  take  npon  myself  the  task  of 
expounding  true  love,  of  touching  upon  the 
themes  of  that  text,  and  tales  of  arms  be- 
fore yon,  who  I  wot  well  have  more  knowl- 
edge of  that  sort  by  the  half  than  I  or  a 
hundred  such  have,  or  ever  shall  have  so 
long  as  I  live,  —  that  were  a  manifold  folly 
by  my  troth,  dear  one.   But  I  would  work 
your  will  with  all   my  might,  highly  be- 
holden to  you  as  I  am;  and  I  wish  ever- 
more to  be  your  servant,  so  God  save  me." 

Thus  the  fair  lady  besought  him,  and 

i  Tb*  words  in  italic*  are  rashly  supplied  by  the 
translator.  For  several  lines  here  Uie  construe tion  is 


tried  him  oft,  for  to  have  won  him  to 
wrong,  —  whatever  it  was  she  purposed ; 
but  he  defended  himself  so  fairly  that  no 
fault  appeared,  nor  any  evil  on  either  side; 
they  knew  nought  but  joy.  They  laughed 
and  played  a  long  time,  till  at  last  she 
kissed  him,  took  her  leave  fairly,  and  went 
her  way. 

17.  Then  the  hero  bestirred  himself  and 
rose  to  the  mass;  and  afterwards  their  din- 
ner was  dight  and  splendidly  served.  The 
hero  sported  with  the  ladies  all  day,  but 
the  lord  raced  over  the  land  full  oft,  fol- 
lowing his  uncouth  swine,  that  rushed  along 
the  banks  and  bit  in  sunder  the  backs  of  his 
best  brachets.2  There  he  abode  at  his  bay 
till  bowmen  broke  it,  and  maugre  his  head 
made  him  move  forth.   Many  fell  arrows 
there  flew  when  the  folk  gathered  about, 
but  yet  at  times  he  made  the  stoutest  to 
start;  till  at  the  last  he  was  so  weary  he 
could  no  more  run;  but  with  the  haste  that 
he  might  he  won  to  a  hole  in  a  cleft  by  a 
rock,  where  the  burn  runs.    He  got  the 
bank  at  his  back  and  began  to  scrape ;  the 
ugly  froth  foamed  from  the  corners  of  his 
mouth,  and  he  whet  his  white  tusks.   It 
was  not  pleasant  for  all  the  bold  hunters 
that  stood  about  him  to  approach  him  even 
remotely;  and  to  go  nigh  him  durst  none 
for  fear  of  harm.   He  had  hurt  so  many 
before,  that  all  seemed  then  full  loath  to  be 
more  torn  with  the  tusks  of  that  savage 
and  crazed  beast. 

18.  When  the  knight  came  himself,  rein- 
ing his  steed,  and  saw  him  bide  at  the  bay 
near  his   men,  he   lighted   nimbly   down, 
left  his  courser,  pulled  out  a  bright  brand 
and  boldly  strode  forth,  and  hurried  fast 
through   the   stream   where   the   fell   one 
abode.   The  wild  creature  was  ware  of  the 
wight  with  weapon   in  hand,  and  heaved 
on  high  his  hairs;  so  fiercely  he  snorted 
that  many  feared  for  their  lord  lest  to  him 
befell  the  worse.  The  swine  rushed  directly 
upon  the  hero,  so  that  man  and  boar  were 
both  in  a  heap  in  the  wildest  of  the  water; 
but  the  boar  had  the  worse,  for  the  man 
marked  him  well  as  they  first  met  and  skil- 
fully set    his   point   exactly  in   the   slot,8 
pierced  him  up  to  the  hilt  so  that  his  heart 
split,  and  he  gave  way  squealing  and  went 
quickly  down  the  water.    A  hundred  hounds 
seized  him  and  fiercely  bit  on  him.   Men 

I  bound*.      *  The  proper  piercing  spot  in  the  chest. 


20 


SIR  GAWAIN  AND  THE  GREEN  KNIGHT 


brought  him  to  land  and  the  dogs  finished 
him.1 

19.  There  was  blowing  of  the  prize 2  on 
many  a  loud  horn,  high  halloing  aloft  by 
mighty  hunters;  brachets  bayed  the  beast 
as  the  masters  bade  who  were  the  chief 
huntsmen  of  that  swift  chase.  Then  a  wight 
that  was  wise  in  woodcraft  begins  skilfully 
to  unlace  3  this  boar.   First  he  hews  off  its 
head  and  sets  it  on  high;  and  afterwards 
splits  him  all  down  his  rough  back,  and 
takes  out  the  bowels  and  singes  them  on 
the  coals;  then  with  bread  mingled  with 
these,  he  rewards  his  hounds.   Afterwards 
he  cuts  the  brawn  in  fine  broad  shields,  and 
has  out  the  hastlets  4  in  the  proper  man- 
ner. And  now  they  bind  the  halves  all  whole 
together,  and  afterwards  stoutly  hang  them 
on  a  stiff  staff.   Now  with  this  same  swine 
they  take  their  way  home.    The   boar's 
head  was  borne  before  the  warrior  who 
slew  him  at  the  stream  through  the  force 
of  his  own  strong  hand.   It  seemed  long  to 
him  until  he  saw  Sir  Gawain  in  the  hall; 
then  he  called,  and  Gawain  came  promptly 
to  take  his  fees  there. 

20.  The  lord  jested8  full  loudly,  and 
merrily  he  laughed  when  he  saw  Sir  Ga- 
wain; with  pleasure  he  spoke.   The  good 
ladies  were  called  and  the  household  gath- 
ered.  He  showed  them  the  shields  and  told 
them  the  tale  of  the  girth  8  and  length  of  the 
wild  swine;  and  also  of  his  viciousness  in 
the  wood  where  he  fled.  That  other  knight 
full  comely  commended    his    deeds,  and 
praised  it  as  a  great  bag  that  he  had  made; 
for  such  a  brawn  of  a  beast,  the  bold  man 
said,  nor  such  sides  of  a  swine,  saw  he 
never  before.  Then  they  handled  the  huge 
head;    the  courteous  man  praised  it  and 
made  much  of  it  to  honour  the  lord. 

"  Now  Gawain,"  quoth  the  good  man,  - 
u  this  game  is  your  own,  by  fine  and  fast 
foreword,  truly  ye  know." 

"It  is  sooth,"  quoth  the  hero;  "and  as 
truely  all  my  getting  I  shall  give  you  in 
turn,  by  my  troth."  He  took  the  warrior 
about  the  neck  and  courteously  kissed  him, 
and  another  time  he  served  him  the  same. 

i  Present  and  part  tense  are  oddly  mixed  in  this 
stanza,  as  often  in  the  poem.  This  time  they  have  been 
normalized. 

*  The  horn-blowing  for  the  game's  death. 

*  cut  up.  «  cutlets. 

*  Two  words  not  clear. 

*  Translating  largesse  as  "largeness." 


"Now  we  are  even,"  quoth  the  warrior, 
"  tonight  of  all  the  covenants  that  we  knit 
by  law  since  I  came  hither." 

Said  the  lord,  "  By  St.  Giles,  ye  are  the 
best  that  I  know  1  Ye  will  be  rich  in  a 
short  time,  if  ye  drive  such  chaffer  ! ;> 

21.  Then  they  raised  tables  aloft  on 
trestles,  and  cast  cloths  upon  them.   The 
clear  light  then  appeared  along  the  walls, 
as  men  set  and  distributed  waxen  torches 
all  about  the  hall.  Much  mirth  and  glee 
rose  up  therein,  about  the  fire  on  the  hearth, 
and  in  various  wise  at  the  supper  and  after. 
Many  noble  songs  they  sang,  as  Christmas 
carols  and  new  dance  tunes,  with  all  the 
mannerly  mirth  that  a  man  can  tell  of.   And 
ever  our  lovely  knight  sat  beside  the  lady. 
Such  seemly  cheer  she  made  to  the  hero, 
sought  with  such  sly  stolen7  glances  to  please 
the  stalwart  one,  that  the  wight  was  all 
amazed,  and  wroth  with  himself.   But  he 
would  not  on  account  of  his  breeding  re- 
prove her,  but  responded  in  all  courtesy, 
howsoever  outrageous  she  might  be.  When 
they  had  played  in  the  hall  as  long  as  their 
will  lasted,  the  lord  called  to  bedwards,  and 
to  the  room  with  a  fireplace  they  passed. 

22.  And  there  they  drank  and  talked, 
and  the  lord  proposed  again  to  make  the 
same  arrangement  for  New   Year's  Eve. 
But  the  knight  craved  leave  to  depart  on 
the  morn,  for  it  was  nigh  at  the  term  that 
he  must  keep.  The  lord  hindered  him  from 
that,  persuaded  him  to  linger,  and  said, 
"As  I  am  true  man,  I  pledge  my  troth 
thou  shalt  reach  the  green  chapel  to  do  thy 
tasks,  sir,  by  New  Year's  light,  long  be- 
fore prime.   Therefore  lie  in  thy  loft  and 
take  thine  ease;  and  I  shall  hunt  in  this 
holt  and  keep  the  covenant  —  change  mer- 
chandise with  thee  when  I  return  hither; 
for  I  have  tried  thee  twice,  and  faithful  I 
find  thee;  now,  'third  time,  best  time.'* 
Think  on  the  morrow.    Make  we  merry 
while  we  may,  and  be  joyful;  for  a  man  can 
catch  trouble  whensoever  he  likes." 

This  was  readily  granted  and  Gawain 
stayed.  Drink  was  quickly  brought  to  them, 
and  to  bed  they  went  with  lights.  Sir  Ga- 
wain lay  and  slept  full  still  and  soft  all 
night;  the  lord,  mindful  of  his  hunting,  was 
dight  full  early. 

*  A  guess  for  stoUen. 

*  The   line  is  not  clear ;  literally,  perhaps,  "  third 
time,  throw  best." 


SIR  GAWAIN  AND  THE  GREEN  KNIGHT 


21 


23.  After  mass  he  and  his  men  took  a 
morsel.  Merry  was  the  morning.  He  asks  for 
his  mount,  and  all  the  sportsmen  who  should 
accompany  him  on  horse  were  ready  mounted 
on  their  steeds  before  the  hall  gates.  Won- 
drous fair  was  the  field,  for  the  frost  still 
lingered.  The  suu  rose  in  a  rack  of  ruddy 
red,  and  drove  all  the  clouds  from  the  wel- 
kin. The  hunters  uncoupled  by  a  holt  side, 
and  the  rocks  in  the  forest  rang  for  the 
noise  of  their  horns.  Some  dogs  fell  on  a 
scent  where  the  fox  had  loitered;  followed 
it  oft  obliquely l  through  the  cunniug  of  their 
wiles.  A  kennet2  cried  upon  it;  the  hunts- 
man encouraged  him,  and  bis  fellows  hast- 
ened after,  panting  thickly.  They  ran  forth 
in  a  rabble  on  Reyuard's  very  track,  and  he 
hurried  before  them.  Soon  they  found  him ; 
and  when  they  actually  saw  him  they  chased 
him  fast,  baying  him  full  fiercely  with  a 
huge    noise.    And    he   trants8  and    turns 
through  many  a  rough  grove;  doubles  and 
hearkens  by  hedges  full  often.  At  the  last 
by  a  little  ditch  he  leaps  over  a  spinny, 
and  steals  out  full  stilly  by  a  rough  rand.4 
Half  escaped  from  the  wood  he  turns  with 
wiles  from  the  hounds ;  but  then  he  arrived, 
ere  he  knew  it,  at  a  chosen  stand,  where  in 
an  instant    three    stout   hunters  in  gray 
threatened  him  at  once.  He  blenched  again 
quickly,  and  bravely  started  off;  with  all 
the  woe  in  the  world,  he  turned  away  to  the 
wood. 

24.  Then  was  it  a  pure  joy  to  listen  to  the 
hounds,  when  all  the  gathered  mute6  got 
view  of  him.  The  cry  they  set  on  his  head  at 
the  sight  was  as  if  all  the  resounding  cliffs 
had  clattered  down  in  a  heap.  Here  he  was 
halloed  when  the  hunters  met  him,  loudly 
cried  upon  with  noisy  calls;  there  he  was 
threatened  and  often  called  thief;  and  ever 
the  ticklers  were  at  his  tail  so  that  he  could 
not  tarry.  Oft  he  was  run  at  when  he  raked 
out,  and  oft  he  reeled  in  again,  so  wily  was 
Reynard.   And  ever  he  led  the  bespattered 
lord  and  his  troop  in  this  manner  among  the 
hills,  now  in  them,  now  over,  now  under, 
while  the  courteous  knight  at  home  slept 
wholesomely  within  the  comely  curtains  on 
the  cold  morn. 

But  the  lady  for  love  cared  not  to  sleep 
nor  to  give  up  the  purpose  that  bode  in  her 
heart;  but  up  she  rose  quickly  and  took  her 


l  Word  obscure.  *  small  hound. 

•  Unploughed  strip  by  woodside. 


•  twists. 
i  pack. 


way  thither  in  a  gay  mantle  meetly  reach- 
ing to  the  earth,  and  furred  full  fine  with 
skins  of  the  best.  No  ornaments  of  gold  on 
her  bead;  but  only  the  bright  stones  set 
about  her  tressour6in  clusters  of  twenty. 
With  her  fair  face  and  her  lovely  throat 
all  naked,  her  breast  bare  before  and  be- 
hind too,  she  comes  within  the  chamber 
door  and  closes  it  after  her,  throws  up  a 
window  and  calls  on  the  wight,  and  smartly 
thus  stirred  him  with  her  fair  cheery  words. 
"  Ah  man,  how  can  you  sleep,  this  morning 
is  so  clear ! "  Though  he  was  drowsing 
deep,  yet  could  he  hear  her. 

25.  In  the  dreary  depths  of  a  dream  the 
noble  was  sunk,  like  a  man  suffering  from 
many   sad  thoughts,  how  destiny  should 
dight  1dm1  his  weird  at  the  green  chapel 
that  day  when  he  met  the  man,  and  had  to 
abide  his  buffet  without  more  debate.  But 
when  he  had  fairly  recovered  his  wits,  he 
emerged  from  his  dreams  and  answered 
with  haste.  The  lovely  lady  came  laughing 
sweetly,   stooped  over  his  fair  face  and 
courteously  kissed  him.  He  welcomed  her 
worthily  with  choice  cheer.  To  see  her  so 
glorious,  and  so  gaily  attired,  so  faultless 
of  feature,  and  so  lovely  of  colour,  warmed 
his  heart  with  welling  joy.  With  smooth 
and    gracious    smiling    they   straightway 
waxed  mirthful.  All   was   bliss  and  good 
cheer  that  passed  between  them.  They  ex- 
changed goodly  words;  much  happiness  they 
felt,  and  great  was  the  peril  between  them, 
unless  Mary  thought  of  her  knight. 

26.  For    that    beauteous    princess  con- 
strained him  so  sorely,   and  the   danger 
pressed  him  so  nigh,  that  of  necessity  it 
behooved   him  either  accept  her  love   op 
rudely  refuse  it.  He  thought  much  of  his 
courtesy,  lest  he  should  prove  a  clown;  and 
more  on  his  villainy  if  he  should  do  sin,  and 
be  traitor  to  the  hero  who  owned  the  castle. 
"  God  shield  ! "  quoth  the  warrior,  "  that 
shall  not  befall !  '*  With  a  little  love-dalli- 
ance he  laid  aside  all  the  poiuted  speeches 
that  sprang  from  her  mouth. 

Quoth  the  lady  to  the  hero:  "Ye deserve 
blame  if  ye  love  not  her  who  is  so  near 
you,  —  of  all  creatures  in  the  world  most 
wounded  in  heart;  —  unless  indeed  ye  have 
a  sweetheart,  a  dearer  being,  that  pleases 
you  better,  and  ye  have  plighted  faith  so 

*  headdress,  caul. 

>  Words  in  italics  supplied  by  Morris. 


22 


SIR  GAWAIN   AND  THE  GREEN  KNIGHT 


firmly  to  that  gentle  one  that  ye  care  not 
to  loosen  it.  —  Verily  now  that  is  what  I 
believe,  and  I  pray  you  that  you  tell  me 
truly;  fur  all  the  loves  in  the  world  deny 
not  the  truth  with  guile." 

"By  St.  John!"  said  the  knight,  and 
courteously  he  smiled,  "  I  have  none,  and 
none  will  I  have." 

27.  "  That  is  the  worst  of  all ! "  quoth 
the  lady.  "  I  am  answered  indeed,  to  my 
sorrow.    Kiss  me  now  comely  and  I  shall 
go  hence.  I  can  only  mourn  in  the  world  as 
a  maid  that  loved  much." 

Sighing  she  stooped  down  and  kissed  him 
seemly;  and  then  she  severed  from  him,  and 
said  as  she  stood,  "  Now,  dear,  at  this  de- 
parting do  me  this  comfort;  give  me  some- 
what of  thy  gift,  thy  glove  if  it  might  be, 
that  I  may  think  on  thee,  sir,  to  lessen  my 
mourning." 

"  Now  in  truth,"  quoth  that  man,  "  I 
would  I  had  here  for  thy  love,  the  dearest 
thing  that  I  wield;  for  truly  ye  have  right 
oft  in  reason  deserved  a  greater  reward 
than  I  could  reckon.  But  to  exchange  with 
you  love-tokens,  that  would  profit  but  little. 
It  is  not  for  your  honor  to  have  at  this  time 
a  glove  of  Ga  wain's  gift  for  a  keepsake; 
and  I  am  here  on  an  errand  in  lands  un- 
couth, and  have  no  men  with  mails  full  of 
precious  things  for  remembrances  at  this 
moment ;  and  that  mislikes  me,  lady.  But 
every  man  must  act  according  to  his  cir- 
cumstances, and  none  should  take  it  ill  or 
repine." 

"Now,  courteous  and  honourable  one," 
quoth  that  lovesome  lady,  "  though  I  shall 
have  nothing  of  yours,  yet  shall  ye  have  of 
mine." 

28.  She  reached  him  a  rich  ring  of  red 
gold  work  with  a  gleaming  stone  standing 
aloft,  that  shed  blushing  beams  like  the 
bright  sun;  know  ye   well   it   was   worth 
wealth  full  huge.  But  the  man  refused  it, 
and  readily  he  said:  "I  desire  no   great 
gifts,   my  gay  one,  at  this  time.    I  have 
naught  to  give  you,  and  naught  will  I  take." 

She  offered  it  him  full  pressinglv,  and 
he  refused  her  offer,  and  swore  swiftly  on 
his  sooth  that  he  would  not  take  it.  And 
she  sorrowed  that  he  refused,  and  said 
thereafter,  "  If  ye  refuse  my  ring,  since  it 
seems  too  rich,  and  ye  would  not  be  so  highly 
beholden  to  me,  I  shall  give  you  my  girdle, 
that  will  enrich  you  less." 


She  lightly  caught  a  lace  that  went  about 
her  sides,  knit  upon  her  kirtle  under  the 
bright  mantle.  It  was  adorned  with  green 
silk,  and  ornamented  with  gold,  broidered 
all  around,  decked  with  fringes;1  and  that 
she  offered  to  the  hero,  and  gaily  besought 
that,  though  it  were  unworthy,  he  would 
take  it.  And  he  denied  that  he  would  in 
any  wise  take  either  gold  or  present  ere 
God  sent  him  grace  to  achieve  the  chance 
that  he  had  chosen  there.  "  And  therefore, 
I  pray  you,  be  not  displeased,  and  give  over 
your  attempt;  for  I  intend  never  to  consent. 
I  am  dearly  beholden  to  you  because  of 
your  entertainment;  and  ever  in  hot  and  in 
cold  I  will  be  your  true  servant." 

29.  "  Now  refuse  ye  this  silk,"  said  the 
lady  then,  "  because  it  is  simple  in  itself,  as 
it  certainly  seems  to  be  ?  Lo  1  little  it  is, 
and  less  it  is  worth;  but  whoso  knew  the 
virtues  that  are  knit  therein,  he  would  es- 
teem it  at  a  greater  price  perad venture; 
for  whatsoever  man  is  girt  with  this  green 
lace,    while    he  has    it   fittingly  wrapped 
about  him,  there  is  no  warrior  under  heaven 
than  can  wound  him ;  for  he  could  not  be 
slain  by  any  device  in  the  world." 

Then  the  knight  paused,  and  it  came  to 
his  heart  that  it  would  be  a  jewel  for  the 
peril  that  awaited  him  when  he  arrived  at 
the  chapel  to  undergo  his  ordeal.  Could  he 
manage  to  be  nnslain,  that  were  a  noble  de- 
vice. Then  he  indulged  her  entreaties  and 
suffered  her  to  speak;  and  she  pressed  the 
belt  on  him  and  offered  it  to  him  eagerly. 
And  he  accepted  it,  and  she  gave  it  him  with 
a  good  will,  and  besought  him  for  her  sake 
never  to  discover  it,  but  to  conceal  it  loy- 
ally from  her  lord.  The  man  agreed  that 
never  person  should  know  it  indeed  but 
they  twain.  Full  oft  he  thanked  her,  right 
glad  in  heart  and  thought.  By  that  she  had 
kissed  the  stout  knight  three  times. 

30.  Then  she  takes  her  leave  and  leaves 
him  there,  for  more  entertainment  she  could 
not  get  from  that  man.  When  she  was  gone 
Sir  Gawain  bestirs  himself,  rises  and  dresses 
in  noble  array.  He  lays  up  the  love-lace  the 
lady  had  given  him,  hides  it  full  cleverly 
where  he  can  find  it  again.  Then  promptly 
he  takes  his  way  to  the  chapel ;  quietly  ap- 
proaches to  the  priest  and  prays  him  there 

i  Reading  frynrjes  for  MS.  fynqres;  or  we  may  keep 
the  text  and  translate,  "wrought,  embroidered,  by 
fingers." 


SIR  GAWAIN  AND  THE  GREEN  KNIGHT 


fcnat  he  would  elevate  his  life,  and  teach 
him  better  how  his  soul  should  be  saved 
when  he  should  go  hence.  Then  he  shrives 
him  cleanly  and  shows  his  misdeeds,  both 
the  more  and  the  less,  beseeches  mercy,  and 
begs  for  absolution.  And  the  priest  assoils 
him  thoroughly  and  set  him  as  clean  as  if 
doomsday  had  been  due  on  the  morrow. 
And  afterwards  Gawain  makes  more  mirth 
among  the  fair  ladies  that  day  with  comely 
carols  and  all  kinds  of  joy  than  ever  he  did 
before,  till  the  dark  night.  Everyone  had 
pleasure  of  him  there,  and  said  indeed  that 
he  had  never  beeu  so  merry  since  he  came 
hither. 

31.  Now  let  him  linger  in  that  place, 
where  may  love  betide  him.   The  lord  is 
still  in  the  field  leading  his  men.  He  has 
overtaken  this  fox  that  he  followed  so  long, 
as  he  sprinted  over  a  spinny  to  spy  the  ras- 
cal, where  he  heard  the  hounds  that  has- 
tened fast  after  him.    Reynard  came  run- 
ning through  a  rough  grove,  and  all  the 
rabble  in  a  rout  right  at  his  heels.  The  man 
was  ware  of  the  game,  and  warily  abode; 
pulled  out  his  bright  brand  and  struck  at 
the  beast;  and  he  dodged  from  the  sharp 
weapon  and  would  have  turned;  but  a  dog 
seized  him  ere  he  could,  and  right  before 
the  horse's  feet  they  all  fell  on  him  and 
worried  this  wily  one  with  a  great  noise. 
The  lord  lighted  quickly,  and  caught  him 
forthwith;   pulled  him  full  hastily  out  of 
the  dogs'  mouths,  and  holding  him  high  over 
his  head,  halloed  fast ;  and  there  many  fierce 
hounds  bayed  him.  Hunters  hied  them  thith- 
er with  horns  full  many,  ever  blowing  the 
recheat l  till  they  saw  the  hero.  As  soon  as 
his  noble  company  was  come,  all  that  bare 
bugle  blew  at  once,  and  all  the  others  that 
had  no  horns  halloed.    It  was  the  merri- 
est mute z  that  ever  men  heard  —  the  rich 
riot  th;it  there  was  raised  for  Reynard's 
soul.    They   rewarded   the   hounds   there, 
stroked  them  and  rubbed  their  heads;  and 
afterwards  they  took  Reynard  and  turned 
off  his  coat. 

32.  And  then  they  hastened  home,  for  it 
was  nigh  night,  blowing  full  stoutly  in  their 
great  horns.  The  lord  alighted  at  last  at 
his  dear  home,  found  fire  on  the  floor,  and 
the  hero  beside  it,  Sir  Gawain  the  good, 
that  glad  was  withal  among  the  ladies;  in 

1  The  note  that  recalls  all  the  dogs. 
*  Noiae  of  the  whole  baud. 


their  love  he  had  much  joy.  He  wore  a 
mantle  of  blue  that  reached  to  the  earth; 
his  surcoat,  that  was  softly  furred,  became 
him  well;  and  his  hood  of  the  same  hung 
on  his  shoulder.  Trimmed  all  about  with 
fine  fur  were  both.  He  met  this  good  man 
in  the  middle  of  the  floor,  and  all  joyfully 
he  greeted  him,  and  goodly  he  said:  "Now 
I  shall  fulfill  our  covenant,  that  we  have 
rust  made,  where  no  drink  was  spared." 
Then  he  embraces  the  knight  and  kisses 
him  thrice  with  as  much  gusto  and  as  sober- 
ly as  he  could  give  them. 

«  By  Christ !  "  quoth  the  other  knight, 
"  ve  gefc  much  bliss  in  the  profits  of  this 
business  —  if  ye  drive  good  bargains !  " 

"  Of  the  bargain,  no  matter,"  quoth  curt- 
ly that  other,  "  so  long  as  the  debts  that  I 
owed  are  properly  paid." 

"  Mary  !  "  quoth  the  other  man,  "  my 
offering  is  the  worse,  for  I  have  hunted  all 
this  day,  and  naught  have  I  got  but  this 
foul  fox-fell;  the  fiend  have  the  good  ones! 
And  that  is  full  poor  to  pay  for  such  fine 
things  as  ye  have  given  me  here,  three  such 
rare  kisses." 

"It  is  enough,"  quoth  Sir  Gawain;  "I 
thank  you,  by  the  rood."  And  as  they  stood 
there  the  lord  told  him  how  the  fox  was 
slain. 

33.  With  mirth  and  minstrelsy,  with 
meats  at  their  will,  they  made  as  merry  as 
any  men  could.  With  laughing  of  ladies, 
with  merry  jests,  Gawain  and  the  good  man 
were  both  as  glad  as  if  the  court  were  mad, 
or  else  drunk.  Both  the  man  and  his  retinue 
made  many  jokes  till  the  season  arrived 
when  they,  must  sever;  the  men  had  to  go 
to  their  beds  at  last.  Then  humbly  this 
gentle  man  takes  his  leave  of  the  lord  first; 
and  fairly  he  thanks  him.  "  For  such  a  joy- 
ous sojourn  as  I  have  had  here,  for  the 
honor  you  have  shown  me  at  this  high  feast, 
the  high  king  reward  you  !  I  can  only  give 
you  myself  to  be  one  of  your  men,  if  that 
pleases  you.  For  I  must  needs,  as  ye  know, 
proceed,  tomorrow,  if  ye  will  grant  me 
some  man  to  show,  as  you  promised,  the 
way  to  the  green  chapel,  as  God  will  suffer 
me  to  take  on  New  Year's  day  the  doom  of 
my  fate." 

"  In  good  faith,"  qnoth  the  good  man, 
"  with  a  good  will !  All  that  ever  I  prom- 
i.»3d  you,  I  will  perform."  Therewith  ho 
assigns  a  servant  to  set  him  in  the  way,  and 


SIR  GAWAIN  AND  THE  GREEN  KNIGHT 


conduct  him  by  the  downs,  that  he  should 
without  hesitation  travel  through  the  forest 
and  fare  at  the  best  in  the  woods.  The  lord 
thanked  Gawain  for  the  worship  he  had 
been  willing  to  show  him.  Then  the  knight 
took  his  leave  of  the  beautiful  ladies. 

34.  With  care  and  with  kissing  he  speaks 
to  them,  and  many  earnest  thanks  he 
presses  upon  them.  And  they  returned  him 
the  same  again  promptly;  they  entrusted 
him  to  Christ  with  sighings  full  sad.  After- 
wards he  graciously  departs  from  the  house- 
hold; each  man  that  he  met  he  thanked  him 
for  his  service  and  his  solace,  and  the  vari- 
ous pains  with  which  they  had  been  busy  to 
serve  him.  And  each  man  was  as  sad  to 
sever  from  him  there  as  if  they  had  ever 
dwelt  worthily  with  that  hero.  Then  with 
people  and  with  light  he  was  led  to  his 
chamber  and  blithely  brought  to  bed  to  be 
at  his  rest.  Whether  he  slept  soundly  I  dare 
not  say,  for  he  had  much  to  think  of  on  the 
morrow  if  he  would.  Let  him  lie  there;  he 
was  near  what  he  sought.  If  ye  will  be  still 
a  while  I  shall  tell  you  how  they  fared. 

FYTTE  THE  FOURTH 

1.  Now  nighs  the  New  Year,  and  the 
night  passes.  The  day  drives  on  to  the  dark, 
as  God  bids  ;  but  outside  wild  storms  wak- 
ened in  the  world;  clouds  cast  the  cold 
keenly  to  the  earth;  with  discomfort  enough 
to  the  naked,  the  snow  from  the  north  flew 
sharply,  and  nipped  the  game.  The  bluster- 
ing wind  blew  from  the  heights,  and  drove 
each  dale  full  of  great  drifts.  The  man  who 
lay  iu  his  bed  heard  it  right  well;  though 
he  locks  his  lids,  full  little  he  sleeps.  By 
each  cock  that  crew  he  knew  well  the  hour. 
Promptly  he  leaped  up  ere  the  day  sprang, 
for  there  was  the  light  of  a  lamp  that 
gleamed  in  his  chamber.  He  called  to  his 
chamberlain,  who  quickly  answered  him, 
and  bade  him  bring  his  burnie  and  saddle 
his  horse.  The  chamberlain  gets  up  and 
fetches  him  his  weeds,  and  arrays  Sir 
Gawain  in  proper  fashion.  First  he  dressed 
him  in  his  clothes  to  keep  out  the  cold,  and 
then  he  put  on  the  rest  of  his  harness,  that 
had  been  well  kept,  both  mail  and  plate, 
and  brightly  polished.  The  rings  of  his  rich 
burnie  had  been  rocked  from  the  rust,1  and 
all  was  fresh  as  at  first;  and  Gawain  was 
i  That  is,  In  a  barrel  of  sand. 


faiu  to  give  thanks  for  it.  The  attendant 
had  wiped  each  piece  well  and  often.  Then 
the  noblest  man  betwixt  here  and  Greece 
bade  his  steed  be  brought. 

2.  Meanwhile,  he  threw  upon  himself  his 
finest  weeds ;  his  surcoat  with  its  cogni- 
sance of  excellent  work,  virtuous  stones  set 
upon  velvet,  all  wrought  about  and  bound 
with  embroidered  seauis,  and  fairly  furred 
within  with  rare  skins.  Yet  left  he  not  the 
lace,   the   lady's    gift,  —  that    forgot    not 
Gawain  for  his  own  good.  When  he  had 
belted  his  brand  upon  his  broad  haunches, 
he  dressed  his  love-token  double  about  him, 
the  knight  swathed  sweetly  about  his  waist 
the  girdle  of  green  silk,  which  became  him 
well,  upon  the  royal  red  cloth  that  was  fair  to 
see.  But  this  hero  wore  not  the  girdle  for 
its  wealth,  for  pride  of  the  pendants,  though 
they  were  polished,  and  though  the  glitter- 
ing gold  gleamed  on  the  ends;  but  to  save 
himself  when  it  behoved  him  to  suffer,  to 
await  his  doom  without  resistance,  with  no 
brand  or  knife  to  defend  him.  By  this  the 
good  man  is  ready  and  goes  out  quickly. 
Full  often  he  thanks  the  distinguished  com- 
pany. 

3.  Gringolet  the  huge  and  strong  was 
ready,  who  had  been  kept  skilfully  in  the 
safest  manner.    The   proud  horse  in   his 
splendid    condition    longed    for   spurring. 
The  hero  approached  him,  noticed  his  coat, 
and  said  soberly,  and  by  his  sooth  swore  — 
"  Here,  in  this  castle,  is  a  company  that  are 
mindful  of  courtesy.     The  man  who  main- 
tains them,  joy  may  he  have;  the  dear  lady, 
love  betide  her  in  this  life,  since  they  for 
charity  cherish  a  guest  and  uphold  honor  in 
their  hand.  May  the  Being  reward  them 
who  holds  the  heaven  on  high  —  and  also 
you  all.   And  if  I  might  live  any  longer  in 
the  world  I  should  give  you  some  reward  if 
I  could."  Then  he  stepped  into  stirrup  and 
strode  aloft.    His  servant  offered  him  his 
shield;  he  put  it  on  his  shoulder.  He  spurred 
Gringolet  with  his  gilt  heels,  and  the  steed 
jumped  on  the  stone;  no  longer  he  stood 
still,  but  pranced.    Gawain's  servant,  who 
bore  his  lance  and  helm,  was  by  then  on  the 
horse.   "This  castle  I  entrust  to  Christ; 
may  he  give  it  aye  good  chance !  " 

4.  The  bridge  was  let  down,  and  the  broad 
gates  unbarred   and   borne  open  on  both 
sides.  The  hero  crossed  himself  quickly  and 
passed  the  boards,  praised  the  porter,  who 


SIR  GAWAIN  AND  THE  GREEN  KNIGHT 


knelt  before  him  giving  good  day  and  pray- 
ing God  that  he  save  Gawain.  And  so  he 
went  on  his  way  with  his  one  man  that 
should  teach  him  how  to  find  that  dismal 
place  where  he  should  receive  the  rueful 
blow.  They  rode  by  banks  where  boughs 
are  bare;  they  climbed  by  cliffs  where  the 
cold  clings;  the  sky  was  upheld,  but  it  was 
ugly  beneath;  mist  hung  on  the  moor  and 
melted  on  the  mount;  each  hill  had  a  hat,  a 
huge  mist-cloak.  Brooks  boiled  and  broke 
from  the  banks  about,  shattering  sheer  on 
their  shores  where  they  showered  down. 
Dreary  was  the  way,  where  they  should 
travel  by  the  wood,  till  soon  came  the  sea- 
son when  the  sun  rises  at  that  time.  They 
were  on  a  hill  full  high,  the  white  snow 
about  them,  when  the  man  that  rode  beside 
him  bade  his  master  abide. 

5.  "I  have  brought  you  hither,  sir,  at 
this  time ;  and  now  ye  are  not  far  from  that 
famous  spot  that  ye  have  asked  and  in- 
quired so  specially  after.  But  I  shall  say  to 
you  forsooth,  since  I  know  you,  and  ye  are 
a  man  that  I  love  well,  if  ye  would  work 
by  my  wit  ye  should  be  the  better  for  it.  The 
place  that  ye  press  to  is  held  full  perilous. 
There  dwells  in  that  waste  a  wight  the 
worst  upon  earth;  for  he  is  stiff  and  stern 
and  loves  to  strike;  and  greater  he  is  than 
any  man  in  the  world,  and  his  body  bigger 
than  the  four  best  that  are  in  Arthur's 
house,  and  bigger  than  Hector  or  any  other. 
He  maintains  that  adventure  at  the  green 
chapel.  There  passes  by  that  place  none  so 
proud  in  arms  but  he  dins  him  to  death 
with  dint  of  his  hand.  For  he  is  a  man  with- 
out measure  and  uses  no  mercy;  for  be  it 
churl  or  chaplain  that  rides  by  the  chapel, 
monk  or  mass-priest,  or  any  man  else,  he 
likes  as  well  to  kill  him  as  to  go  alive  him- 
self. Therefore  I  tell  ye  as  truly  as  ye  sit 
in  the  saddle,  come  ye  there  ye  shall  be 
killed  —  trust  me   well  —  though  ye   had 
twenty  lives  to  spend.   He  has  dwelt  here 
full  long  and  caused  much  strife  in  the 
land.  Against  his  sore  dints  ye  cannot  de- 
fend yourself. 

6.  "  Therefore,  good  Sir  Gawain,  let  the 
fellow  alone,  and  go  away  some  other  road, 
for  God's  sake.  Repair  to  some  other  coun- 
try, where  Christ  may  speed  you;  and  I 
shall  hie  me  home  again,  and  promise  you 
further  —  which  I  will  swear  by  God  and 
all  bis  good  saints,  so  help  me  God  and  the 


halidom  and  oaths  enough  —  that  I  will 
loyally  conceal  you,  and  never  tell  tale  that 
ever  ye  fled  for  any  man  that  I  know  of." 
"Gramercy,"  quoth  Gawain.  And  sternly 
he  added.  "  Well  worth  thee,  man,  who 
wishes  my  good;  and  I  well  believe  thou 
wouldst  loyally  conceal  me.  But  if  thou 
kept  promise  never  so  faithfully,  and  I  gave 
up  here,  sought  for  fear  to  fly  as  you  ad- 
vise, I  were  a  knight  coward ;  I  could  not  be 
excused.  But  I  will  go  to  the  chapel  what- 
ever chance  may  fall,  and  talk  with  that 
same  man  the  tale  that  I  like,  be  it  good 
or  evil,  as  it  pleases  fate  to  have  it.  Though 
he  be  a  stern  champion  to  cope  with,  and 
armed  with  a  club,  full  well  can  God  man- 
age to  save  his  servants." 

7.  "  Mary !  "    quoth    that    other    man, 
"  now  thou  sayest  as  much  as  that  thou  wilt 
take  upon  thyself  thine  own  destruction;  if 
it  pleases  thee  to  lose  thy  life,  I  shall  not 
let  nor  hinder  thee.  Have  here  thy  helm 
on  thy  head,  thy  spear  in  thy  hand;  and  ride 
down  this  same  lane  by  yon  rock-side  till 
thou  be  brought  to  the  bottom  of  the  rugged 
valley;  then  look  a  little  up  the  grassy  slope 
on  thy  left  hand,  and  thou  shalt  see  in  that 
ravine  the  chapel  itself,  and  the  burly  man. 
on  the  field  who  keeps  it.  Now  farewell  in 
God's  name,  Gawain  the  noble,  for  all  the 
gold  in  the  world  I  would  not  go  with  thee 
nor  bear  thee  fellowship  through  this  wood 
a  foot  further." 

At  that  the  man  turned  his  bridle  in  the 
wood,  hit  the  horse  with  the  heels  as  hard 
as  he  could;  leaped  over  the  land,  and  left 
the  knight  there  all  alone. 

"  By  God's  self,"  quoth  Gawain,  "  I  will 
neither  grieve  nor  groan.  To  God's  will  I 
am  full  obedient,  and  to  him  I  have  en- 
trusted myself." 

8.  Then  he  spurs  Gringolet  and  follows 
the  path ;  pushes  in  by  a  hollow  beside  a 
thicket;  rides  through  the  rough  slope  right 
to  the  dale;  and  then  he  looked  about  him, 
and  wild  it  seemed  to  him.  He  saw  no  sign 
of  dwelling  anywhere  around,  but  on  both 
sides  high  steep  banks,  and  rough  hunched 
crags  with  projecting  stones;  the  shadows 
of  the  cliffs  seemed  to  him  terrible.  Then 
he  paused  and  held  back  his  horse,  and  oft 
changed  his  cheer  while  seeking  the  chapel. 
He  saw  none  such  on  any  side,  and  strange 
it  seemed  to  him.  But  soon,  a  little  dis- 
tance off  on  a  grassy  spot  he  descried  a 


26 


SIR  GAWAIN  AND  THE  GREEN  KNIGHT 


mound  as  it  were,  a  smooth  hill  by  the  bank 
of  the  stream  near  a  ford  of  the  flood  that 
ran  there.  The  burn  bubbled  there  as  if  it 
were  boiling.  The  knight  urges  his  steed, 
and  comes  to  the  hill;  lights  nimbly  down, 
and  ties  the  rein  and  his  rich  bridle  to  a 
tree  by  a  rough  branch ;  then  he  turns  to 
the  hill  and  walks  about  it,  debating  with 
himself  what  it  might  be.  It  had  a  hole  at 
the  end  and  on  either  side,  and  was  over- 
grown with  grass  in  clumps  everywhere, 
and  was  all  hollow  within — nothing  but  an 
old  cave  or  a  crevice  of  an  old  crag.  He 
could  not  understand  it  at  all.  "  Alas,  Lord," 
quoth  the  gentle  knight,  "  can  this  be  the 

freen  chapel  ?  Here  about  midnight  the 
evil  might  tell  his  matins." 

9.  "  Now,"  quoth  Gawain,  "  it  certainly  is 
mysterious  here;  this  oratory  is  ugly,  over- 
grown with  herbs.    Well   it   beseems   the 
wight  clad,  in  green  here  to  do  his  devotions 
in  the  devil's  wise.  Now  I  feel  in  my  five 
wits  it  is  the  fiend  that  has  made  this  bar- 
gain with  me,  to  destroy  me  here.  This  is 
a  chapel  of  mischance;  may  ill  fortune  be- 
tide it !  It  is  the  cursedest  kirk  that  ever  I 
came  in  ! " 

With  high  helm  on  his  head,  his  lance  in 
his  hand,  he  strides  up  to  the  rock  of  the 
rude  dwelling.  Then  he  heard  from  that 
high  hill,  in  a  rough  cave,  on  a  bank  beyond 
the  brook,  a  marvellously  savage  noise.  Lo, 
the  cliff  clattered  as  though  it  would  split, 
as  if  one  were  grinding  a  scythe  on  a  grind- 
stone. It  whirred  and  screeched  like  water 
at  a  mill;  it  rushed  and  rang  that  it  was 
ruth  to  hear. 

"By  God,"  quoth  Gawain  then,  "that 
gear,  I  fancy,  is  being  prepared  to  give  me 
a  good  reception.  Yet  though  I  must  lose 
my  life,  fear  shall  never  make  me  change 
colour." 

10.  Then  the  knight  called  full  high: 
"  Who  dwells  in  this  place  to  keep  covenant 
with  me  ?  For  now  the  good  Gawain  is 
passing  right  here.   If  any  wight  wishes 
ought,  let  him  come  hither  fast,  now  or 
never,  to  fulfill  his  need  !  " 

"  Abide ! "  quoth  one  on  the  bank  over 
his  head.  "Thou  shalt  have  in  all  haste 
that  which  I  promised  thee  once." 

Yet  he  kept  on  with  that  noise  sharply  for 
a  while,  turning  and  whetting,  ere  he  would 
come  down.  And  then  he  crossed  by  a  crag 
and  came  from  a  hole,  whirling  out  of  a 


dark  place  with  a  fell  weapon  —  a  Danish 
axe  new  dight,  to  give  the  blow  with.  It 
had  fast  to  the  helve  a  great  head,  sharp- 
ened on  the  stone.  Four  feet  long  was  the 
weapon  —  no  less,  by  that  lace  that  gleamed 
full  bright.  And  the  man  in  the  green  was 
arrayed  as  before  —  both  his  skin  and  his 
limbs,  locks,  and  beard;  save  that  on  foot 
he  strides  fairly  on  the  earth.  He  set  the 
steel  shaft  to  the  stone  and  stalked  beside 
it.  When  he  came  to  the  water,  where  he 
did  not  wish  to  wade,  he  hopped  over  on 
his  axe,  and  fiercely  advanced,  with  sav- 
age ferocity  pacing  the  broad  snow-covered 
glade.  Sir  Gawain  met  the  knight  and 
bowed  to  him,  not  at  all  low.  The  other 
said,  "  Now,  sweet  sir,  in  a  covenant  a  man 
can  trust  thee." 

11.  "  Gawain,"  quoth  the  green  warrior, 
"  may  God  preserve  thee.  Indeed  thou  art 
welcome,  hero,  to  my  place;  and  thou  hast 
timed  thy  travel  as  a  true  man  should.  And 
thou  knowest  the  covenants  made  between 
us;  at  this  time  twelve  month,  thou  tookest 
what  fell  to  thee,  — and  I  at  this  New  Year 
was  to  repay  you  handsomely.  And  now  we 
are  in  this  valley  entirely  alone;  here  are 
no  men  to  part  us,  however  we  may  behave. 
Have  thy  helm  off  thy  head,  and  have  here 
thy  pay.  Make  no  more  debate  than  I  of- 
fered thee  then,  when  thou  whipped  off  my 
head  at  one  blow." 

"Nay,"  quoth  Gawain,  "by  God  that 
lent  me  life,  I  shall  grudge  thee  not  a  whit 
whatever  misfortune  falls.  But  arrange  thee 
for  thy  one  stroke,  and  I  shall  stand  still 
and  hinder  thee  not  the  least  from  doing 
the  work  as  you  like." 

He  bent  the  neck  and  bowed  down,  show- 
ing the  flesh  all  bare;  and  behaved  as  if  he 
cared  not.  For  no  dread  would  he  flinch. 

12.  Then  the  man  in  the  green  got  ready 
quickly,  gathered  up  his  grim  tool  to  smite 
Gawain.  With  all  the  might  in  his  body  he 
bare  it  aloft,  and  aimed  a  savage  blow  as 
though  he  wished  to  kill  him.  Had  it  driven 
down  as  earnestly  as  he  feinted,  the  ever 
doughty  one  would  have  been  dead  of  his 
dint.  But  Gawain  glanced  to  one  side  on 
the  gisarm  as  it  came  gliding  down  to  slay 
him  there  in  the  glade,  and  shrank  a  little 
with  the  shoulders  from  the  sharp  iron. 
The   other   warrior  with  a  quick  motion 
withheld  the  bright  weapon,  and  then  he 
reproved  the  prince  with  many  proud  words. 


SIR  GAWAIN  AND  THE  GREEN  KNIGHT 


27 


"Thou  art  not  Gawain,"  said  the  man, 
M  who  is  held  so  good,  who  never  flinched 
for  any  army  by  hill  nor  by  vale ;  and  now 
thou  tieest  for  fear  before  thou  feelest  any 
harm.  Such  cowardice  I  never  heard  of 
that  knight.  I  neither  winced  nor  fled,  sir, 
when  thou  didst  strike,  nor  tried  any  tricks 
in  King  Arthur's  house.  My  head  flew  to 
my  foot,  and  yet  I  never  budged;  and  thou, 
ere  any  harm  taken,  art  fearful  in  heart. 
Wherefore  the  better  man  I  ought  to  be 
called  for  it." 

"  I  flinched  once,"  qnoth  Gawain,  "  and 
will  do  so  no  more.  Yet  if  my  head  should 
fall  on  the  stones,  I  cannot  restore  it. 

13.  "  But  make  ready,  sir,  by  thy  faith, 
and  bring  me  to  the  point.  Deal  to  me  my 
destiny,  and  do  it  promptly;  for  I   shall 
stand  thee  a  stroke,  and  not  start  again  till 
thine  axe  has  hit  me  —  have  here  my  troth." 

"Have  at  thee  then!"  quoth  the  other, 
and  heaves  it  aloft,  and  aims  as  savagely 
as  if  he  were  mad.  He  strikes  at  him 
mightily,  but  touches  the  man  not;  for  he 
withheld  his  hand  cleverly  ere  it  could  hurt. 
Gawain  awaits  it  properly  and  flinches  with 
no  member,  but  stands  still  as  a  stone,  or  a 
stump  that  is  twisted  into  the  rocky  ground 
with  a  hundred  roots. 

Then  merrily  spoke  the  man  in  the  green: 
M  So,  now  thou  hast  thy  heart  whole  it  be- 
hoves me  to  hit.  Now  keep  back  the  fine 
hood  that  Arthur  gave  thee,  and  see  if  thou 
canst  keep  thy  neck  whole  from  this  stroke." 

Said  Gawain  in  great  anger:  "  Why,  thrash 
on,  thou  wild  man !  Thou  threatenest  too 
long.  I  guess  that  thine  own  heart  is  timid! " 

"Forsooth,"  quoth  the  other  warrior, 
"  thou  speakest  so  fiercely  that  I  will  not 
delay  thine  errand  a  bit  longer."  Then  he 
takes  his  stride  to  strike  and  knits  both 
brow  and  lip.  No  wonder  Gawain  mislikes 
it  and  gives  up  all  thought  of  escape. 

14.  Lightly  he  lifts  his  aze  and  lets  the 
edge  come  down  fairly  on  the  bare  neck. 
Yet  though  he  amote  rudely,  it  hurt  him  but 
little;  only  cut  him  on  one  side  so  that  it 
severed  the  skin.  The  aharp  bit  reached  the 
flesh  through  the  fair  fat,  so  that  the  bright 
blood  shot  over  his  shoulders  to  the  earth. 
And  when  the  hero  saw  the  blood  glint  on 
the  snow,  he  leaped  forth   more  than  a 
spear's  length,  eagerly  seized  his  helm,  cast 
it  on  his  head,  threw  his  shoulders  under 
his  fair  shield,  pulled  out  a  bright  sword 


and  fiercely  spoke.  Never  in  this  world 
since  he  was  born  of  his  mother  was  he  half 
so  blithe. 

"Cease,  sir,  of  thy  blow!  Offer  me  no 
more.  I  have  without  strife  taken  a  stroke 
in  this  place;  and  if  thou  givest  me  more,  I 
shall  promptly  repay  and  yield  quickly 
again,  trust  thou  that!  Only  one  stroke  falls 
to  me  here.  The  covenant  which  we  made 
in  Arthur's  halls  provided  just  that;  and 
therefore,  courteous  sir,  now  hold  !  " 

15.  The  warrior  turned  from  him  and 
rested  on  his  axe.  He  set  the  shaft  on  the 
ground,  leaned  on  the  head,  and  beheld 
how  the  doughty  hero  stood   his   ground 
grimly,  fully  armed  and  devoid  of  fear.  In 
his  heart  it  pleased  him.  Then  with  a  great 
voice,  and  a  huge  laugh,  he  spoke  merrily 
to  the  hero:  "Bold  sir,  in  this  place  be  not 
so  savage.    Nobody  has  here  unmannerly 
mishandled  thee,  nor  done  but  according  to 
covenant  made  at  the  king's  court.  I  prom- 
ised thee  a  stroke  and  thou  hast  it;  hold 
thee  well  paid.  I  release  thee  of  the  rem- 
nant, of  all  other  rights.  If  I  had  been  skil- 
ful peradveuture  1  could  have  given  you  a 
worse  buffet.  First  I  menaced  you  merrily 
with  a  pure  feint,  and  gave  thee  no  blow; 
which  was  but  justice,  considering  the  cov- 
enant which  we  made  on  the  first  night,  and 
which  thou  held  with  me  trustily;  for  truly 
all  the  gain  thou  gave  me  as  a  good  man 
should.     The  second  feint    this   morning, 
sir,  I  proffered  thee,  because  thou  didst  kiss 
my  fair  wife  and  didst  hand  the  kisses  over 
to  me ;  for  these  two  occasions  I  gave  thee 
here  but  two  bare  feints  without  harm.  A 
true  man  truly  restores;  such  an  one  need 
dread  no   barm.  At  the  third  time  tbou 
didst  fail ;  and  so  take  thee  that  tap. 

16.  "  For  it  is  my  weed  that  thou  wear- 
est,  that  same  woven  girdle.   Mine   own 
wife  gave  it  thee,  I  know  well,  forsooth. 
Now  know  I  well  thy  kisses,  and  thy  vir- 
tues also.  And  as  for  the  wooing  of  my 
wife,  I  managed  it  myself.  I  sent  her  to 
try  thee,  and  truly  it  seems  to  me  thou  art 
the  most  faultless  hero  that  ever  went  on 
foot.  As  a  pearl  is  of  greater  price  than 
white   peas,  so  is  Gawain,  in  good  faith, 
compared  with  other  gay  knights.  But  in 
this  case,  sir,  you  lacked  a  little,  and  loy- 
alty failed  you.  But  that  was  for  no  amor- 
ous work,  nor  wooing  either,  but  because 
ye  loved  your  life,  —  the  less  I  blame  you." 


SIR  GAWAIN  AND  THE  GREEN  KNIGHT 


That  other  brave  man  stood  a  great  while 
in  a  study;  so  stricken  was  he  for  grief  that 
he  groaned  within.  All  the  blood  of  his 
breast  rushed  to  his  face;  and  he  shrank  for 
shame  when  the  warrior  talked.  This  was 
the  first  word  that  the  man  spoke  —  "Cursed 
be  cowardice  and  covetousuess  both!  In  you 
is  villainy  and  vice,  that  destroy  virtue." 
Then  he  caught  at  the  knot  and  loosed  the 
fastening ;  fiercely  reached  the  belt  to  the 
•warrior  himself.  "  Lo!  there  is  the  decep- 
tion, foul  may  it  fall!  For  fear  of  thy  knock 
cowardice  taught  me  to  make  a  truce  with 
covetousness,  to  forsake  my  nature,  which 
is  generosity  and  loyalty,  that  belong  to 
knights.  Now  am  I  faulty  and  false,  and  a 
coward  have  ever  been.  From  treachery 
and  untruth  ever  come  sorrow  and  care. 
Here  I  confess  to  you,  knight,  that  my  con- 
duct is  all  faulty.  Let  me  but  please  you 
now,  and  after  I  shall  beware." 

17.  Then  the  other  laughed  and  said 
courteously:  "  I  hold  it  quite  remedied,  the 
harm  that  I  had.  Thou  hast  made  a  clean 
confession,  acknowledging  all  thy  misdeeds, 
and  hast  received  the  penance  openly  from 
the  point  of  my  edge.    I  hold  thee  quit  of 
that  plight,  and  purified  as  clean  as  if  them 
hadst  never  forfeited  since  thou  was  first 
born.  And  I  give  thee,  sir,  the  girdle  that 
is  gold  hemmed.    Since  it  is  green,  as  is 
my  gown,  Sir  Gawain,  ye  may  think  upon 
this  same  adventure  where  thou  goest  forth 
among  great  princes;  and  this  shall  be  a 
genuine  token  among  chivalrous  knights  of 
the  adventure  of  the  green  chapel,  and  ye 
shall  come  again  this  New  Year  to  my 
dwelling,  and  we  shall  revel  the  remnant 
of   this  rich  feast  full   well."    The   lord 
pressed  the  invitation  and  said,  "  With  my 
•wife,  who  was  your  great  enemy,  I  think 
we  shall  reconcile  you." 

18.  "  Nay,  forsooth,"  quoth  the  hero; 
and  seizing  his  helm,  he  took  it  off  quickly 
and  thanked  the  warrior.   "  I  have  had  a 
good  visit,  bliss  betide  you;  and  may  He 
pay  you  well  who  directs  all  mercies.  Com- 
mend me  to  that  courteous  one,  your  comely 
mate;  both  the  one  and  the  other,  my  hon- 
oured ladies,  who  have  thus  with  their  craft 
quaintly  beguiled  their  knight.   But  it  is 
no  wonder  that  a  fool  should  rave,  and 
through  wiles  of  women  be  won  to  sorrow. 
For  so  was  Adam  beguiled  by  one,  and 
Solomon  by  many,  indeed ;  and  Samson  also, 


Delilah  dealt  him  his  weird;  and  David 
thereafter  was  deceived  by  Bethsheba,  who 
suffered  much  sorrow.  Since  these  men 
were  plagued  by  their  wiles,  it  were  a  huge 
gain  to  love  them  well  and  believe  them 
not  —  if  a  person  but  could;  for  these  men 
were  of  old  the  best,  and  the  most  fortu- 
nate, excellent  above  all  others  under  the 
heavens;  and  all  they  were  beguiled  by 
women  whom  they  had  to  do  with.1  If  I  bo 
now  deceived,  meseems  I  might  be  ex- 
cused. 

19.  "  But  your  girdle,"  quoth  Gawain, 
"  God  reward  you  for  it !    That  will  I  keep 
with  good  will;  not  for  the  precious  gold, 
nor  the  samite  nor  the  silk,  nor  the  wide 
pendants,  for  its  wealth  nor  for  its  beauty 
nor  for  its  fine  work;  but  in  sign  of  my 
fault  I  shall  behold  it  oft;  when  I  ride  in 
renown  I  shall  lament  to  myself  the  fault 
and  the  deceit  of  the  crabbed  flesh,  how 
tender  it  is  to  catch  stains  of  filth;  and 
thus  when  pride  shall  prick  me  for  prowess 
of  arms,  a  look  on  this  love-lace  shall  mod- 
erate my  heart.    But  one  thing  I  would 
pray  you  —  may  it  displease  you  not  — 
since  ye  are  lord  of  the  land  yonder  where 
I   have  stayed   worshipfully  with  you  — 
may  the  Being  who  upholds  the  heaven 
and  sits  on  high  repay  you  for  it !  —  how 
name  ye  your  right  name  ?  and  then  no 
more." 

"  That  shall  I  tell  thee  truly,"  quoth  the 
other  then.  "  Bernlak  de  Hautdesert  I  am 
called  in  this  land  through  the  might  of 
Morgen  la  Fay,  who  dwells  in  my  house. 
She  has  acquired  deep  learning,  hard-won 
skill,  many  of  the  masteries  of  Merlin ;  — 
for  she  has  at  times  dealt  in  rare  magic 
with  that  renowned  clerk,  who  knows  all 
your  knights  at  home.  Morgan  the  Goddess 
is  therefore  her  name;  no  person  is  so 
haughty  but  she  can  tame  him. 

20.  "  She  sent  me  in  this  wise  to  your  rich 
hall  to  assay  its  pride  and  try  if  it  were 
true  that  circulates  about  the  great  renown 
of  the  Round  Table.  She  prepared  for  me 
this  wonder  to  take  away  your  wits,  to  have 
grieved  Guinevere  and  caused  her  to  die 
through  fright   of    that  same   man,   that 
ghostly  speaker  with  his  head  in  his  hand 
before   the  high  table.   That  is  she,  the 
ancient  lady  at  home.   She  is  even  thine 
aunt,  Arthur's  half-sister,  the  daughter  of 

i  This  paesage  IB  none  too  clear. 


SIR  GAWAIN  AND  THE  GREEN  KNIGHT 


29 


that  Duchess  of  Tiutagel  upon  whom  dear 
Uther  afterwards  begot  Arthur,  that  is  now 
king.  Therefore,  I  beg  you,  sir,  to  come  to 
thine  aunt;  make  merry  in  my  house  ;  my 
people  love  thee,  and  I  like  thee  as  well,  sir, 
by  my  faith  as  I  do  any  man  under  God 
for  thy  great  truth." 

But  he  answered  him  nay,  he  would  in 
no  wise.  They  embraced  and  kissed,  each 
entrusted  other  to  the  Prince  of  Paradise, 
and  they  parted  right  there  in  the  cold.  Ga- 
wain  on  horse  full  fair  rides  boldly  to  the 
king's  court,  and  the  knight  all  in  green 
whithersoever  he  would. 

21.  Wild  ways  in  the  world  Gawain  now 
rides  on  Griugolet,  he  who  had  got  the 
boon  of  his  life.  Oft  he  harboured  in  houses, 
and  oft  without ;  and  many  an  adventure  in 
vale  he  had,  and  won  oft;  but  that  I  care 
not  at  this  time  to  mention  in  my  tale.  The 
hurt  was  whole  that  he  had  got  in  his  neck; 
and  he  bare  the  glistening  belt  about  him, 
crossed  obliquely  like  a  baldric,  the  lace 
fastened  under  his  left  arm  with  a  knot,  in 
token  that  he  was  taken  in  a  fault.  And  thus 
he  comes  to  the  court,  the  knight  all  sound. 
There  wakened  joy  in  that  dwelling  when 
the  great  ones  knew  that  good  Gawain  had 
come;  joyous  it  seemed  to  them.  The  king 
kisses  the  knight,  and  the  queen  also;  and 
afterwards  many  a  sure  knight,  who  sought 
to  embrace  him  and  asked  him  of  bis  jour- 
ney. And  wondrously  he  tells  it,  confess- 
ing all  the  trials  that  he  had,  the  adventure 
of  the  chapel,  the  behavior  of  the  knight, 
the  love  of  the  lady  —  and,  at  the  last,  the 
lace.  He  showed  them  the  nick  in  his  neck 


that  he  caught  at  the  lord's  hands  for  his 
unloyalty.  He  grieved  when  he  had  to  tell 
it;  he  groaned  for  sorrow,  and  the  blood 
rushed  to  his  face  for  shame  when  he  de- 
clared it. 

22.  "  Lo  f  lord,"  quoth  the  hero,  as  he 
handled  the  lace,  "  this  that  I  bear  in  my 
neck  is  the  badge  of  this  blame.  This  is  the 
evil  and  the  loss  that  I  have  got  from  the 
cowardice  and  covetousness  that  I  showed 
there.  This  is  the  token  of  untruth  that  I 
am  taken  in,  and  I  must  needs  wear  it  while 
I  may  last;  for  none  may  hide  his  shame 
without  mishap,  for  where  it  once  is  in- 
curred, depart  will  it  never." 

The  king  and  all  the  court  comfort  the 
knight.  They  laugh  loud  at  his  tale,  and 
lovingly  agree  that  the  lords  and  ladies 
that  belong  to  the  Table,  each  knight  of 
the  brotherhood,  should  have  a  baldric,  an 
oblique  band  about  him  of  a  bright  green, 
and  wear  that  for  the  sake  of  the  hero. 
And  that  emblem  was  accorded  the  renown 
of  the  Round  Table,  and  he  was  ever  after 
honoured  that  had  it. 

As  it  is  told  in  the  best  book  of  romance, 
thus  in  Arthur's  day  this  adventure  betid, 
which  the  Brutus  books  bear  witness  of. 
After  Brutus  the  bold  hero  first  came 
hither,  when  the  siege  and  the  assault  had 
ceased  at  Troy,  many  adventures  of  this 
sort  happened.  Now  may  He  that  bore  the 
crown  of  thorns  bring  us  to  bis  blisa. 
AMEN. 


HONY  SOIT  QUI  MAL  PENCE. 


WILLIAM   LANGLAND(?) 


THE  VISION  OF  WILLIAM  CON- 
CERNING PIERS  THE 
PLOUGHMAN 

VERSION  A 
PROLOGUE 

IN  a  summer  season,  when  soft  was  the 
sun, 

I  clad  me  in  rough  clothing,  a  shepherd  as 
I  were; 

In  habit  of  a  hermit,  unholy  of  works, 

Went  I  wide  in  this  world,  wonders  to  hear. 

But  on  a  May  morning  on  Malvern  Hills 

To  me  befell  a  marvel,  a  fairy  thing  me- 
thought. 

I  was  weary  of  wandering  and  went  me  to 
rest 

Under  a  broad  bank  by  a  burn  side; 

And  as  I  lay  and  leaned  and  looked  on  the 
waters, 

I  slumbered  in  a  sleep,  it  sounded  so  pleas- 
ant. 10 
Then  did  I  dream  a  marvellous  dream, 

That  I  was  in  a  wilderness,  wist  I  not 
where ; 

And  as  I  beheld  into  the  east,  on  high  to 
the  sun, 

I  saw  a  tower  on  a  hill-top,  splendidly  fash- 
ioned; 

A  deep  dale  beneath,  a  dungeon  therein, 

With  a  deep  ditch  and  dark,  and  dreadful 

to  see. 

A  fair  field  full  of  folk  found  I  there 
between, 

Of  all  manner  of  men,  the  mean  and  the 
rich. 

Working  and  wandering,  as  the  world  re- 
quireth. 

Some  put  them  to  the  plow,  and  played 
full  seldom,  20 

Jn  plowing  and  sowing  produced  they  full 
hardly 

What  many  of  these  wasters  in  gluttony 
destroy. 

And  eome  gave  themselves  to  pride,  ap- 
pareled them  accordingly, 


In  fashion  of  clothing  strangely  disguised. 

To  prayer  and  to  penance  put  themselves 
many, 

For  love  of  our  Lord  lived  they  full  hard, 

In  hope  to  have  the  bliss  of  heaven's  king- 
dom, 

As  anchorites  and  hermits  that  hold  them- 
selves in  cells, 

Covet  not  in  the  country  to  gad  all  about, 

With  luxurious  living  their  body  to  please. 
And  some  chose  trade,  to  prosper  the 
better,  31 

As  it  seems  to  our  sight  that  such  men 
should; 

And  some  mirth  to  make,  as  minstrels  can, 

And  get  gold  with  their  glee,  guiltless,  I 

trow. 

But  jesters  and  buffoons,  Judas's  chil- 
dren, 

Found   for  themselves   fantasies   and    of 
themselves  fools  made, 

Yet  have  their  wits  at  command,  to  work 
if  they  will. 

What  Paul  preached  of  them  I  dare  not 
prove  here; 

Qui  loquitur  turpiloquium,1  he  is  Lucifer's 

servant. 
Askers  and  beggars  fast  about  flitted,  40 

Till  their  bags  and  their  bellies  brimful 
were  crammed ; 

Feigned  for  their  food,  fought  at  the  ale- 
house; 

In  gluttony,  God  wot,  go  they  to  bed 

And  rise  up  with  ribaldry,  these  bullying 
beggar-knaves; 

Sleep  and  sloth  follow  them  ever. 

Pilgrims  and  palmers  pledge  themselves 
together 

To  seek  the  shrine  of  St.  James  and  saints 
at  Rome; 

Went  forth  in  their  way  with  many  wise 
tales, 

And  had  leave  to  lie  all  their  life  after. 

Hermits  in  a  band  with  hooked  staves      50 

Went  to  Walsingham,  and  their  wenches 
after. 

i  He  who  speaketh  baeeneaa. 


PIERS  THE  PLOUGHMAN 


Great  lubbers  and  long,  that  loath  were 

to  work, 
Clothed  themselves  in  capes  to  be  known 

for  brethren, 
And  some  dressed  as  hermits  their  ease  to 

have. 

I  found  there  friars,  all  the  four  orders, 
Preaching  to  the  people  for  profit  of  their 

bellies, 

Interpreting  the  gospel  as  they  well  please, 
For  covetousness  of  capes  construes  it  ill; 
For  many   of  these   masters  may  clothe 

themselves  at  will, 
For  money  and  their  merchandise  meet  oft 

together.  60 

Since    Charity    hath    turned   trader,   and 

shriven  chiefly  lords, 
Many  wonders  have  befallen  in  these  few 

years. 
Unless  Holy  Church  now  be  better  held 

together 
The  most  mischief  on  earth  will  mount  up 

fast. 
There  preached  a  pardoner,  as  he  a  priest 

were, 

And  brought  up  a  bull  with  bishop's  seals, 
And  said  he  himself  would  absolve  them  all 
From  breach  of  fasting  and  broken  vows. 
The  laymen  liked  him  well,  believed  his 

speech, 
And   came   up   kneeling  and    kissed   his 

bull ;  7o 

He  banged    them   with  his  brevet,1  and 

bleared  their  eyes, 
And  purchased  with  his  parchment  rings 

and  brooches. 

Thus  ye  give  your  gold  gluttony  to  help, 
And  grant    it  to  rascals  that  run  after 

lechery. 
Were  the  bishop  holy  and  worth  both  his 

ears, 
They  should  not  be  so  brazen  to  deceive  so 

the  people. 
Yet  it  is  not  against  the  bishop  tliat  the 

knave  preacheth; 
But  the  parish  priest  and  pardoner  share 

the  silver 
That  the  poor  parishioners  should  have  but 

for  them. 
Parsons  and  parish  priests  complain  to 

their  bishops  80 

That  their  parish  hath  been  poor  since  the 

pestilence  2  time, 

>  Letter  of  indulgence. 

(  Probably  the  great  plague  of  1348-1349. 


And  ask  leave  and  licence  at  London  to 

dwell 
To  sing  there  for  simony,8  for  silver  is 

sweet. 
There  hang  about  a  hundred  in  hoods  of 

silk, 

Sergeants,  it  seems,  to  serve  at  the  bar; 
Plead  at  the  law  for  pence  and  for  pounds, 
Not  for  love  of  our  Lord  unloose  their  lips 

once. 
Thou  mightest  better  measure  the  mist  on 

Malvern  hills 
Than  get  a  mum  of  their  mouth  till  money 

be  shown. 
I  saw  there  bishops  bold  and  bachelors 

of  divinity  90 

Become  clerks  of    account,  the  king  to 

serve; 
Archdeacons    and    deacons,   that    dignity 

have 
To  preach  to  the  people  and  poor  men  to 

feed, 
Have  leapt  to  London,  by  leave  of  their 

bishops, 
To  be  clerks  of  the  King's  Bench,  to  the 

country's  hurt. 
Barons  and  burgesses,  and  husbandmen 

also, 
I  saw  in  that  assembly,  as  ye  shall  hear 

hereafter. 

Bakers,  butchers,  and  brewers  many, 
Woollen  weavers,  and  weavers  of  linen, 
Tailors,  tanners,  and  fullers  also,  100 

Masons,  miners,  and  many  other  crafts, 
Ditchers  and  delvers,  that  do  their  work  ill, 
And  drive  forth  the  long  day  with  "  Dieu 

vous  sauve,  dame  Emma."4 
Cooks  and  their  boys  cry  "  Hot  pies,  hot  I 
Good  geese  and  pigs,  go  dine,  go  dine  I " 
Taverners  to  them  told  the  same  tale 
With  good  wine  of  Gascony  and  wine  of 

Alsace, 

Of  Rhine  and  of  Rochelle,  the  roast  to  di- 
gest. 
All  this  I  saw  sleeping,  and  seven  times 

more. 

PASSUS  I 
What  this  mountain  meauetb,  and  this  dark 

dale, 
And  this  fair  field  full  of   folk,  fairly  I 

shall  you  show. 

'  Getting  inouey  singing  anniversary  maMca  for  the 
dead. 

'  "  Ood  eave  you,  dame  Emma  "—  apparently  a  popu- 
lar song. 


WILLIAM  LANGLAND 


A  lady  lovely  in  face,  in  linen  clotbed, 
Came  down  from  the  cliff,  and  called  me 

gently, 
And  said,  "  Son,  sleepest  them  ?  Seest  them 

these  people 

All  how  busy  they  be  about  vanity  ? 
The  most  part  of  the  people  that  pass  now 

on  earth, 
If  they  have  honour  in  this  world,  they  care 

for  nothing  better; 
Of  other  heaven  than  here  they  have  no 

regard." 
I  was  afraid  of  her  face,  though  she  fair 

were,  10 

And  said, "  Pardon,  madame,  what  does  this 

mean  ?  " 
"This  tower  and  this  hill,"  quoth  she, 

"  Truth  is  therein, 
And  would  that  ye  wrought  as  his  word 

teacheth, 

For  he  is  Father  of  faith,  that  formed  you  all 
Both  with  skin  and  with  face,  and  gave  you 

five  senses 
For  to  worship  him  therewith,  while  ye  be 

here, 
And  because  he  commanded  the  earth  to 

serve  you  each  one 
With  woollen,  with  linen,  with  livelihood  at 

need, 

In  moderate  manner,  to  put  you  at  ease, 
And  commanded  of  his  courtesy  in  common 

three  things,  20 

Their  names  are  needful  and  to  name  them 

I  propose 
By  rule  and  by  reason,  to  rehearse  them  as 

follows: 
The  one  clothing  is,  from  chill  you  to 

save, 

And  the  second  meat  at  meals,  against  dis- 
comfort of  thyself; 
And  drink  when  thou  art  dry,  but  do  it  not 

out  of  reason 
So  that  thou  be  the  worse  when  thou  work 

shouldest. 

Dread  delightful  drink,  and  thou  shalt  do 
the  better:  32 

Moderation  is  medicine,  though  you  crave 
much. 

All  is  not  good  for  the  soul  that  pleaseth 
the  body, 

Nor  all  food  to  the  body  that  is  dear  to  the 
soul. 

Believe  not  thy  body,  for  a  liar  him  teach- 
eth 


(That  is,  the  wicked  world)  thee  to  be- 
tray. 

For  the  fiend  and  thy  flesh  follow  together 

And  injure  thy  soul  —  set  it  in  thy  heart; 

And  that  thou  shouldest  beware,  I  teach 
thee  the  better."  40 

"Ah,  madame,  merci,"  quoth   I,   "thy 
words  please  me  well. 

But  the  money  on  this  earth,  that  men  so 
fast  hold, 

Tell  me  to  whom  that  treasure  belongeth." 
"Go  to  the  Gospel,"  quoth  she,  "that 
God  speaks  himself, 

When  the  people  asked  him  about  a  penny 
in  the  temple, 

If  they  should  honor  therewith  Caesar  their 
king. 

And  he  asked  of  them  of  whom  spake  the 
lettering, 

And  whom  the  image  was  like  that  thereon 
stood. 

1  Caesar,'  they  said, '  we  see  well,  each  one.' 

Reddite  ergo  quae  sunt  Caesaris  Caesari  et 
quae  sunt  Dei  Deo.1 

1  Then  render,'  quoth  Christ, '  what  to  Cae- 
sar belongeth,  50 

And  what  is  God's  to  God,  or  else  ye  do 
ill.' 

For  Right  Reason  should  rule  yon  all, 

And  Common  Sense  be  warden,  our  wealth 
to  guard, 

And  tower  of  our  treasure  to  give  it  you  at 
need; 

For  husbandry  and  he  hold  well  together." 
Then  I  asked  her  fairly,  for  [the  sake  of] 
him  that  made  her, 

"That  dungeon  in  that  deep  vale,  that 
dreadful  is  to  see, 

What  may  it  mean,  madame,  I  thee  be- 
seech," 

"That  is  the  Castle  of  Care,"  quoth  she; 
"  whoso  cometh  therein 

May  curse  that  he  was  born  to  body  or  to 
soul.  60 

Therein  dwelleth  a  wight  that  Wrong  is 
called, 

Father  of  falseness,  —  he  founded  it  him- 
self. 

Adam  and  Eve  he  egged  on  to  do  ill; 

Counselled  Cain  to  kill  his  brother; 

Judas  he  cheated  with  the  Jews'  silver, 

And  on  an  elder  tree  hanged  him  after. 

He  is  a  hinderer  of  love,  and  lieth  to  all 
those 

i  Matthew,  xxii,  20. 


PIERS  THE  PLOUGHMAN 


33 


That  trust  in  their  treasure,  wherein  is  no 

truth." 

Then  had  I  wonder  in  my  wits  what  wo- 
man it  might  be 
That  such  wise  words  of  Holy  Writ  me 

showed ;  70 

And  I  greeted  her  in  the  High  Name,  ere 

she  thence  went, 
What  she  might  be  indeed  that  taught  me 

so  fairly. 
"Holy  Church   I  am,"  quoth  she,  "thou 

oughtest  to  know  me, 
I  received  thee  first,  and  thy  faith  taught 

thee. 
Thou  broughtest  me  pledges  my  bidding  to 

do, 
And  loyally  to  love  me,  while  thy  life 

lasted." 
Then  kneeled  I  on  my  knees  and  cried 

to  her  for  grace, 
And  prayed  her  piteously  to  pray  for  our 

sins, 
And  eke  to  teach  me  kindly  on  Christ  to 

believe, 
That  I  might  work  the  will  of  Him  that 

made  me  a  man.  So 

"Show  me  no  treasure,  but  tell  me  this 

same: 
How  I  may  save  my  soul,  thou  that  holy 

art  held." 
u  When  all  treasure  is  tested,  truth  is  the 

best; 

I  appeal  to  '  God  is  Love '  to  jndge  the  truth. 
It  is  as  precious  a  jewel  as  dear  God  him- 
self. 
For  whoso  is  true  of  his  tongue,  and  telleth 

naught  else, 
Doth  his  work  with  truth,  and  doth  no  man 

ill; 
He  is  accounted  of  the  Gospel,  on  earth  and 

above, 
And  also  likened  to  our  Lord,  by  Saint 

Luke's  words. 

Clerks  that  know  it  should  teach  it  about,  90 
For   Christians   and   non-Christians,   each 

claims  it  for  himself. 
Kings  and  knights  should  conduct  them- 
selves reasonably, 

And  rightly  roam  the  realms  about, 
And  take  trespassers  and  tie  them  fast 
Till  truth  had  determined  the  trespass  to 

the  end. 

For  David,  in  his  days,  he  dubbed  knights, 
Maie  them  swear  on  their  sword  to  serve 

truth  ever, 


That  is  plainly  the  profession  that  per* 

taiueth  to  knights, 
And  not  to  fast  one  Friday  in  five  score 

years, 
But  to  hold  with  men  and  women  that 

seek  the  truth,  too 

And  leave  off  for  no  love  nor  grasping  of 

gifts; 
And  he  that  oversteps  that  point  is  apostate 

of  the  order, 

For  Christ,  king  of  kings,  knighted  ten, 
Cherubim  and  Seraphim,  seven  such  and 

another,1 
And  gave  them  mastery  and  might,  in  his 

majesty, 

And  over  his  army  made  them  archangels, 
And  taught  them  through  the  Trinity  truth 

to  know, 
And  to  be  obedient  to  his  bidding,  he  bade 

them  naught  else. 

Lucifer  with  legions  learned  it  in  heaven. 
He  was  loveliest  to  see,  after  our  Lord,  no 
Till  he  broke  obedience  through  boast  of 

himself. 
Then  fell  be  with  his  fellows,  and  fiends 

they  became, 

Out  of  heaven  into  hell  hobbled  fast, 
Some  into  the  air,  and  some  to  the  earth,  and 

some  into  hell  deep; 
But  Lucifer  lieth  lowest  of  them  all; 
For  pride  that  he  put  on,  his  pain  hath  no 

end. 

And  all  that  work  wrong,  wend  they  shall, 
After  their  death  day,  and  with  that  devil 

dwell. 
But  they  that  work  that  word  that  Holy 

Writ  teacheth, 
And  end,  as  I  said  before,  in  profitable 

works,  no 

May  be  sure  that  their  souls  shall  to  heaven, 
Where  Truth  is  in  Trinity  and  crowueth 

them  all. 

For  I  say  certainly,  in  view  of  the  texts, 
When  all  treasure  is  tried,  Truth  is  the  best. 
Teach  it  to  the  ignorant,  for  the  lettered 

know  it, 
That   Truth  is  a  treasure,  the  finest  on 

earth." 
"Yet   have   I   no   natural  knowledge," 

quoth  I,  "  thou  must  teach  me  better, 
By  what  power  hi  my  body  it  beginneth, 

and  where." 
"Thou  dotest,  dolt,"  quoth  she,  "dull  are 

thy  wits. 

>  B  C.  A  reads  an  at  the  four  ordrtt. 


34 


WILLIAM  LANGLAND 


It  is  a  natural  knowledge  that  tells  tbee  in 

the  heart  130 

For  to  love  thy  lord  liefer  than  thyself; 
No  deadly  sin    to  do,   die  though    thou 

should  est. 
This,  I  trow,  is  Truth !  Whoso  can  teach 

thee  better 
See  that  thou  suffer  him  to  say  it,  and  then 

teach  it.  further ! 
For  thus   teacheth  us   His  Word  —  work 

thou  thereafter  — 
That  Love  is  the  liefest  thing  that  our  Lord 

asketh, 
And  eke  the  plant  of  peace.  Preach  it  to 

thy  harp 
Where  thou  art  merry  at  thy  meat,  when 

men  bid  thee  sing; 
For  from  the  heart's  own  wisdom  springeth 

the  song. 
That  belongs  to  the  Father  that  formed 

us  all,  140 

He  looked  on   us  with   love,  and  let  His 

Son  die 

Meekly  for  our  misdeeds,  to  amend  us  all. 
And  yet  wished  He  no  woe  to  them  that 

wrought  Him  that  pain, 
But  meekly  with  mouth  mercy  He   be- 
sought, 
To  have  pity  on  that  people  that  tortured 

Him  to  death. 

Here  thou  mightest  see  example,  in  Him- 
self alone, 
How  He  was  mighty  and  meek,  that  mercy 

did  grant 
To  them  that  hanged  him  high,  and  his 

heart  pierced. 
Therefore  I  recommend  the  rich  to  have 

ruth  on  the  poor, 
Though  ye  be  mighty  at  law,  be  meek  in 

your  works.  150 

Eadem  mensura  qua  mensi  fueritis,  reme- 

cietur  vobis.1 
For  the  same  measure  that  ye  mete,  amiss 

or  otherwise, 
Ye  shall  be  weighed  therewith,  when  ye 

wend  hence. 

For  though  ye  be  true  of  tongue,  and  hon- 
estly win, 
And  eke  as  chaste  as  a  child  that  in  church 

weepeth, 

Unless  ye  live  truly  and  also  love  the  poor, 
And  such  good  as  God  sent  truly  share, 
Ye   Lave  no  more  merit  in  mass  nor  in 

hours 

i  Matthew,  vii,  2. 


Than  Mawkin  of  her  maidenhood  that  no 

man  desireth. 

For  James  the  gentle  bound  it  in  his  book, 
That  faith  without  works  is  feebler  than 

nothing,  160 

And  dead  as  a  doornail  unless  the  deed 

follow. 
Chastity  without  charity  —  know  thou  in 

truth  — 
Is  as  useless  as  a  lamp  that  no  light  is 

in. 
Many  chaplains  are  chaste,  who  charity 

have  none; 
No  men  than  they  are  harder  when  they 

are  advanced; 

Unkiud  to  their  kin  and  to  all  Christians; 
They  devour  their  own  alms  and  demand 

ever  more. 
Such    chastity    without    charity  will    be 

claimed  2  in  hell. 
Curates  that  should  keep  themselves  clean 

in  their  bodies, 
They  are  cumbered  with  care  and  cannot 

escape  it,  170 

So  hard  are  they  with  avarice  clamped  to- 
gether; 

That  is  no  truth  of  the  Trinity,  but  treach- 
ery of  hell, 
And  a  teaching  of  laymen  more  grudgingly 

to  give. 

For  these  are  words  written  in  the  evangel, 
Date  et  dabitur  vobis,  8  for  I  deal  to  you 

all 
Your  grace  and  your  good  hap,  your  wealth 

to  win, 
And  therewith  acknowledge  me  naturally 

for  what  I  send  you. 
This  is  the  lock  of  Love  that  letteth  out  my 

grace 
To  comfort  the  careworn,  cumbered  with 

sin. 
Love  is   the  liefest  thing  that  our  Lord 

asketh,  180 

And  eke  the  straight  way  that  goeth  into 

heaven. 
Therefore  I  say  as  I  said  before,  in  view  of 

these  texts, 
When  all  treasures  are  tried,  Truth  is  the 

best. 
Now  have  I  told  thee  what  Truth  is,  that 

no  treasure  is  better, 
I  may  no  longer  linger;  now  our  Lord  keep 

thee ! " 

»  B  chained. 

*  Give  and  it  shall  be  given  unto  yon,  Luke,  vi,  38. 


35 


PASSUS  II 
Yet  kneeled  I  on  my  knees,  and  cried  to 

her  for  grace, 
And  said,  "  Mercy,  madame,  for  the  love 

of  Mary  of  heaven, 
That  bore  the  blessed  babe,  that  bought  us 

on  the  cross, 
Teach  me  the  natural  skill   to  know  the 

False." 
M  Look  on  the  left  hand,"  quoth  she,  "  and 

see  where  he  staudeth, 
Both  False  and  Flattery,  and  all  his  whole 

following ! " 
I  looked  on  the  left  side,  as  the  lady  me 

taught; 
Then  was  I  ware  of  a  woman,  wonderfully 

clothed, 

Trimmed  with  fur,  the  richest  upon  earth, 
Crowned  with  a  crown,  the  king  hath  no 

better.  10 

All  her  five   fingers  were  furnished  with 

rings 
Of  the  preciousest  jewelry  that  prince  ever 

wore. 

In  red  scarlet  she  rode,  ribboned  with  gold, 
There  is  110  queen  more  gorgeous  that  on 

earth  quick  is  and  alive. 
u  What  is   this  woman,"  quoth   I,   "  thus 

wonderfully  attired  ?  " 
"That  is  Meed,1  the  maiden,"  quoth  she, 

"  that  hath  me  marred  oft, 
And  lied  about  my  lore  to  lords  about. 
In  the  Pope's  palace  she  is  as  privy  as  myself; 
And  so  should  she  not  be,  for  Wrong  was 

her  sire. 
Out  of  Wrong  she  sprang  to  misfortune  of 

many.  20 

I  ought  to  be  higher  than  she,  for  I  am 

better  born. 
Tomorrow  is  the  marriage  made  of  Meed 

and  False; 
Flattery,  with  fair  speech,  hath  brought 

them  together, 
And  Guile  hath  persuaded  her  to  grant  all 

his  will. 
And  all  is  by  Liar's  leading  that  they  live 

together. 
Tomorrow  is  the  marriage  made,  true  as  I 

tell  thee, 
That  thou  might'st  know,  if  thou  wilt,  what 

they  all  are 

1  Meed  Is  properly  reward;  but  the  signification  here 
varies  from  Jfpit imate  payment  to  groifl  bribery.  It  it 
often  best  translated  by  'graft." 


That  belong  to  that  lordship,  the  great  and 

the  small. 
Know  them  there  if  thou  canst,  and  keep 

thee  from  them  all, 
If  thou  desirest  to  dwell  with  Truth  in  his 

bliss;  30 

Learn  His  law  that  is  so  loyal,  and  then 

teach  it  further. 

I  may  no  longer  linger,  to  our  Lord  I  com- 
mend thee. 
And  become  a  good  man,  spite  of  greed,  I 

advise." 
When  she  was  gone  from  me,  I  looked 

and  beheld 
All  this  rich  retinue    that  reigned  with 

False 

Were  bid  to  the  bridal  on  both  of  the  sides. 
Sir  Simony  is  sent  for,  to  seal  the  charters 
That  False  or  Flattery  at  any  price  had 

g°% 

And  dower  Meed  therewith,  in  marriage 
for  ever. 

But  there  was  neither  hall  nor  house  that 
might  harbour  the  people  40 

That  each  field  was  not  full   of  folk  all 

about. 

In  midst  of  a  mountain,  at  the  hour  of 
mid-morning 

Was  pitched  a  pavilion,  a  proud  one  for  the 
nonce; 

And  ten  thousand  of  tents  spread  out  be- 
sides, 

For  knights  from  the  country  and  strangers 
about, 

For  assizers,  for  summoners,  for  sellers,  for 
buyers, 

For  ignorant,  for  learned,  for  laborers  in 
villages, 

And  for  the  flattering  friars,  all  the  four 
orders, 

All  to  witness  well  what  the  deed  desired, 

lu  what  manner  Meed  in  marriage  was  en- 
dowed; 50 

To  be  fastened  with   False,  the   fee  was 
levied. 

Then  Flattery  fetched   her  forth,  and  to 
False  gave  her 

On  condition  that  False  shall  sustain  her 
forever, 

She  to  be  obedient  and  ready  his  bidding 
to  fulfil, 

In  bed  and  at  board,  obedient  and  courte- 
ous, 

And  as  Sir  Simony  shall  say,  to  follow  his 
will. 


WILLIAM  LANGLAND 


Now  Simony  and  Civil  Law  stand  forth 

both, 

Unfolding  the  dowry  that  Falseness  made, 
AuJ  thus  began  these  men  and  bellowed 

full  loud: 
"  This  know  and  witness,  all  that  dwell  on 

earth,  60 

That  I,  Flattery,  endow  False  with  that 

maiden  Meed, 
To  be  present  in  pride,  for  poor  or  for 

riiih,1 

With  the  Earldom  of  Envy  ever  to  last, 
With  all  the  Lordship  [of  Lechery] a  in 

length  and  in  breadth; 
With  the  Kingdom  of  Covetousness  I  crown 

them  together, 
With  the  Isle  of  Usury  and  Avarice  the 

false, 

Gluttony  and  great  oaths  I  give  them  to- 
gether, 
With  all  delights  and   lusts  the  devil  to 

serve, 
With  all  the  service  of  Sloth  I  endow  them 

together; 
To  have  and  to  hold,  and  all  their  heirs 

after,  70 

With  the  appurtenances  of  purgatory,  into 

the  pains  of  hell: 

Yielding  for  this  thing,  at  the  year's  end, 
Their  souls  to  Satan,  to  send  into  pain, 
There  to  dwell  with  Wrong,  while  God  is 

in  heaven." 
In  witness  of  which  thing  Wrong  was  the 

first, 

Pierce  the  pardoner,  a  Pauline  doctor, 
Bett  the  beadle  of  Buckinghamshire, 
Randolph  the  reeve  of  the  Rutland  district, 
Taborers  and  tumblers  and  tapsters  many, 
Huud  the  miller  and  many  more  besides. 
In  the  date  of  the  devil8  the  deed  was 

sealed,  81 

In  sight  of  Sir  Simony  and  by  notaries' 

signets. 
Then  tormented  was  Theology  when  he 

this  tale  heard, 
And  said  to  Civil  Law,  "  Sorrow  on  thy 

head 
Such  a  wedding  to  make  to  render  Truth 

wroth; 
And  ere  this  wedding  be  wrought,  woe  thee 

betide ! 
For  Meed  is  a  wealthy  one,  a  maiden  with 

goods; 

IB  To  be  pryncet  in  prydf.  and  pouerie  to  despise. 
•  BO.       *  Presumably,  in  parody  of  Anno  Domini. 


God  grant  us  to  give  her  where  Truth  will 

assign  1 
And  thou  hast  given  her  to  a  trickster,  God 

give  thee  sorrow  ! 
The  text  telleth  not  so,  Truth  knows  the 

sooth:  90 

Dignus  est  operarius  mercede  sua  • 4 
'  Worthy  is  the  workman  his  hire  to  have; ' 
And  thou  hast  bestowed  her  on  False,  fie 

on  thy  law ! 

For  lechers  and  liars  lightly  thou  trustest, 
Simouy  and  thyself  injure  Holy  Church; 
Ye  shall  abide  it  both,  by  God  that  me 

made, 

At  one  year's  end  when  ye  reckon  shall; 
He  and  these  notaries  annoy  the  people. 
For  well  ye  know,  deceivers,  unless  your 

wits  fail, 

That  False  is  a  schemer,  a  shirker  of  work, 
And  a  bastard  born  of  Beelzebub's  kin.  100 
And  Meed  is  a  jewelled  one,  a  maiden  of 

gentry, 
She  might  kiss  the  king  for  cousin,  if  she 

would. 

Work  by  wisdom  and  then  by  wit, 
Lead  her  to  London,  where  law  is  handled, 
See  if  legally  it  be  allowed  that  they  lie  to- 
gether, 
And  if  the  justice  will  adjudge  her  to  be 

joined  with  False. 
Yet  beware  of  the  wedding,  for  wise  ia 

Truth, 
For  Conscience  is  of  his  council,  and  know- 

eth  you  each  one; 
And  if  he  find  such  defect  that  ye  with  False 

hold 
It    shall    oppress    your    souls    sorely    at 

last."  no 

To  this  Civil  Law  assented,  but  Simony 

would  not 

Till  he  had  silver  for  his  advice  and  his  seal. 
Then  fetched  Flattery  forth  florins  enough, 
And  bade  Guile  go  and  give  gold  about, 
And  especially  to  these  notaries  that  they 

have  no  lack; 

And  fee  False  Witness  with  florins  enough, 
For  he  can  master  Meed  and  make  her  do 

his  will; 
For  where  falseness  is  often  found,  there 

faith  faileth. 
When  the  gold  was  given,  great  were  the 

thanks 
To  False  and  to  Flattery,  for  their  fair 

giftS.  120 

«  Luke,  x,  7. 


PIERS  THE  PLOUGHMAN 


37 


Many  came  to  comfort  False  against  care, 
And  swore  on  holy  relics,  "  Cease  shall  we 

never 
Ere  Meed  be  thy  wedded  wife,  through 

wisdom  of  us  all. 
For  we  have  so  mastered  Meed  with  our 

smooth  words 

That  she  agrees  to  go  with  a  good  will 
To  London  to  look  if  the  law  will 
Judge  you  jointly  to  be  joined  for  ever." 

Then  was  False  fain,  and  Flattery  blithe, 
And  had  all  men  called  from  the  country 

about 
To  array  them  ready,  both  burgesses  and 

sheriffs,  130 

To  wend  with   them   to  Westminster,  to 

witness  the  deed. 
Then  hunted  they  for  horses  to  carry  them 

thither; 

But  Flattery  fetched  forth  foals  of  the  best, 
And  set   Meed  on  the  back  of  a  sheriff 

newly  shod, 

And  False  on  a  juror  that  softly  trotted, 
(For   Falseness   against  the   faith  jurors 

seduceth, 
Through  cumbering    of    covetousness,  to 

climb  over  truth, 
That  the  faith  is  down  trodden  and  falsely 

defamed, 
And  Falseness  is  become  a  lord,  and  lives 

as  he  likes) : 

Flattery  on  a  fair  speech,  full  finely  at- 
tired; 140 
For  fair  speech  without  faith  is  brother  to 

Falseness; 
And  thus  jurors  are  summoned  to  serve  the 

false, 
And  fair  speech  for  Flattery  who  many 

deceives. 
Then  notaries  who  had  no  horses,  annoyed 

they  were 
That  Simony  and  Civil  Law  should  go  on 

foot. 

Then  said  Civil  Law,  and  swore  by  the  rood, 
That  summoners  should   be   saddled  and 

serve  them  each  one; 
11  And  have  provisors  appareled,  in  palfrey 

wise, 

Sir  Simony  himself  shall  sit  on  their  backs, 
And  all  deans  and  sub-deans  as  prancers 

prepare  150 

For  they  shall  bear  bishops  and  bring  them 

to  rest. 
The  people  of  the  Paulines,  for  pleas  in 

the  consistory, 


Shall  serve  myself,  who  Civil  Law  am 

called; 
Put  a  cart  saddle  on  our  commissary,  our 

cart  he  shall  draw, 

And  fetch  our  victuals  from  the  fornicators; 
And  make  of  Liar  a  long  cart,  to  draw  all 

these  others, 

Story-tellers  and  frauds  that  on  foot  re- 
main." 

Now  False  and  Flattery  fare  forth  to- 
gether, 
And  Meed  in  the  midst,  and  all  the  crowd 

after. 
Leisure  I  lack  to  tell  the  train  that  follows 

them,  160 

Of  as  many  manners  of  men  as  on  earth 

live. 

But  Guile  was  leader  and  guided  them  all. 
Soothness  saw  them  well  and  said  but  little, 
But  pricked  on  his  palfrey,  and  passed 

them  all, 

And  came  to  the  king's  court,  and   Con- 
science told, 
And  Conscience  to  the  king  repeated  it 

again. 
"  Now,  by  Christ,"  quoth  the  king,  "  if  I 

might  catch 

False  or  Flattery,  or  any  of  his  fellows, 
I  would  be  wreaked  on  these  wretches  that 

work  so  ill, 
And  have  them  hanged  by  the  neck,  and 

all  that  maintain  them;  170 

No  man  on  earth  shall  bail  out 1  the  least 

of  them, 
But  right  as  the  law  decides,  let  it  fall  on 

them  all. 
And  command  the  constable,  that  came  at 

the  first, 

To  attack  the  traitors,  in  spite  of  any  bribe; 
I  order  you  to  fetter  False  fast,  in  spite  of 

any  kind  of  gifts, 
And  to  cut  off  Guile's  head,  let  him  go  no 

further; 

And  bring  Meed  to  me,  in  spite  of  them  all. 
To  Simony  and  Civil  Law  I  send  a  warning 
That  Holy  Church  for  them  is  harmed  for 

ever. 

And  if  ye  catch  Liar,  let  him  not  escape  180 
Being  set  on  the  pillory,  in  spite  of  any 

prayer; 
I  bid  thee  watch  for  them  well,  let  none  of 

them  escape." 
Dread  at  the  door  stood,  and  the  din 

heard, 

i  B  0.  meynpritt.  A  mfynlene. 


WILLIAM  LANGLAND 


And  quickly  went  he  to  warn  the  False, 
And  bade  him  flee  fast,  and  his  fellows  too. 
Then  False  for  fear  fled  to  the  friars, 
And  Guile  took  to  flight,  iu  fear  of  death; 
But  merchants   met   him,  and  made  him 

abide, 
Besought  him  in  their  shops  to  sell  their 

ware, 
Apparelled  him  as  a  'prentice,  the  people  to 

serve.  190 

Lightly  Liar  leapt  away  thence, 
Lurked  through  lanes,  lugged  about  by 

many. 
He  was  nowhere  welcome,  spite  of  his  many 

tales, 
But  hunted  out  everywhere,  and  ordered 

to  pack. 

Pardoners  had  pity,  and  took  him  indoors, 
Washed  him  and  wrung  [his  clothes],  and 

wound  him  in  clouts, 
And  sent  him  on  Sundays  with  seals  to 

churches, 

And  for  pence  gave  pardon,  pounds  at  a  time. 
This  learned  the  leeches,  and  letters  to  him 

sent. 

To  dwell  with  them,  diagnoses  to  make.  200 
Grocers  spake  with  him  to  look  after  their 

wares, 
For  he  had  skill  in  their  craft,  and  knew 

many  gums. 
Minstrels  and  messengers  met  with  him 

once, 
And  held  him  back  half  a  year  and  eleven 

weeks. 
Friars,  with  fair    speeches,  fetched  him 

thence ; 
That  visitors  might  know  him  not,  kept  him 

like  a  friar; 
But  he  hath  leave  to  leap  out,  as  often  as 

he  liketh, 
And  is  welcome  when  he  will,  and  dwells 

with  them  oft. 

And  all  fled  for  fear  and  flew  into  cor- 
ners; 
Save  Meed  the    maiden,   no  man   dared 

abide;  aio 

But,  truly  to  tell,  she  trembled  for  fear, 
And  wept,  too,  and  wrung  her  hands,  when 

she  was  arrested. 

PASSUS  in 
Now  is  Meed  the  maiden  taken,  and  no 

more  of  them  all, 
By  beadles  and  bailiffs,  brought  to  the 

king. 


The  king  called  a  clerk,  I  know  not  his 

name, 
To  take  Meed  the  maiden,  and  make  her  at 

ease. 

"I  shall  try  her  myself,  and  truly  inquire 
What  man  in  this  world  would  be  dearest 

to  her. 
And  if  she  work  by  my  wit,  and  my  will 

follow, 
I  shall  forgive  her  the  guilt,  so  help  me 

God ! " 
Courteously  the  clerk  then,  as  the  king 

commanded, 
Took    the    maiden    by    the    middle,  and 

brought  her  to  the  chamber.  10 

There  was  mirth  and  minstrelsy  to  please 

Meed  withal. 
Those  that  dwell  at  Westminster  worship 

her  all. 

Gently,  with  joy,  the  Justice  soon 
Repaired  to  the  chamber  where  the  lady 

was, 
Comforted  her  kindly,  and  made  her  good 

cheer, 
And  said,  "  Mourn  thou  not,  Meed,  nor  be 

thou  sorrowful, 
For  we  will  guide  the  king  and  thy  way 

shape, 
For  all  the  craft  of  Conscience,  and  scheme, 

as  I  trow, 

That  thou  shalt  have  both  mitrht  and  mas- 
tery, and  do  what  thou  likest 
With  the  king  and  the  commons,  and  the 

conrt  too."  20 

Mildly  then  Meed  thanked  them  all 
For  their  great  goodness,  and  gave  them 

each  one 

Goblets  of  pure  gold,  and  pieces  of  silver, 
Rings  with  rubies,  and  riches  enough, 
The  least  of  their  company  a  mutton  *  of 

gold. 
Then  took  they  their  leave,  these  lordings, 

of  Meed. 
With  that  there  came  clerks  to  comfort 

the  same: 
"  We  bid  thee  be  blithe,  for  we  be  thine 

own 

To  work  thy  will,  while  our  life  lasteth." 
Courteously  then  she  promised  them  the 

same,  30 

To  love  them    loyally  and    make    them 

lords, 
And  in  consistory  at  court  to  tell  their 

names. 

>  A  gold  coin. 


PIERS  THE  PLOUGHMAN 


39 


"  No  ignorance  shall  hinder  them,  the  most 

ignorant  that  I  love, 
From  being  advanced  ;  for  I  am  known 
Where   learned    clerks    are    left    iii    the 

lurch." 
Then  came  there  a  confessor,  caped  like 

a  friar; 

To  Meed  the  maiden  full  meekly  he  bowed, 
And  said  full  softly,  as  if  it  were  iu  shrift, 
"Though  learned  and  lay  had  all  by  thee 

lain, 
And  though  False  had  followed  thee  these 

fifteen  winters,  40 

I  shall  absolve  thee  myself,  for  a  load  of 

wheat, 
And  also  be  thy  bawd,  and  bear  well  thy 

errand 
Among  clerks  and  knights,  to  bring  down 

Conscience." 
Then  Meed,  for  her  misdeeds,  to   that 

man  kneeled, 
And  shrove  her  of  her  sins,  shamefully,  I 

trow. 

She  told  him  a  tale,  and  gave  him  a  noble  — 
To  be  her  bedesman,  and  her  bawd  after. 
Then  he  absolved  her  soon,  and  next  to  her 

said, 
"  We  have  a  window  a-making,  will  cost  us 

full  dear : 
If  thou  wouLlst  glaze  the  gable,  and  grave 

therein  thy  name,  50 

Secure  should   thy  soul   be  to  dwell  in 

heaven." 
"  Knew  I  that,"  quoth  the  woman,  "  there 

is  neither  window  nor  altar, 
That  I  would  n't  make  or  mend,  and  my 

name  write  thereon, 

That  each  man  should  say,  I  should  be  sis- 
ter of  your  house." 
But  God  to  all  good  folk  such  graving 

forbids, 
And  saith,  Nesciat  sinistra  quid  facial  dex- 

tra : l 

'  Let  not  thy  left  hand,  late  nor  early, 
Be  aware  what  thy  right  hand  works  or  be- 
stows.' 
But  share  it  so  secretly  that  pride  be  not 

seen 

Neither  in  sight  nor  in  soul;  for  God  him- 
self knoweth 
Who  is  courteous  or  kind,  covetous  or  the 

contrary.  60 

Therefore,  I  teach  yon,  lords,  such  writing 
to  leave, 

>  Matthew,  vi,  8. 


The  writing    in  windows  of    your  good 
deeds, 

Or  calling  to  God's  people,  when  ye  give 
your  doles; 

Peradventure  you  have  your  hire  for  it 
here. 

For  our    Saviour    it    saitb,  and    himself 
preacheth, 

A  men  dico  vobis,  receperunt  mercedem  suam  ;  * 

1  Here  verily  they  have  received  their  re- 
ward forthwith.' 

Mayors  and  masters,  and  ye  that  are  go- 
betweens 

'Twixt  the  king  and  the  commons,  to  guard 
the  laws, 

To  punish  on  pillories,  or  on  cucking-stools, 

Brewers,  bakers,  butchers,  and  cooks,        70 

For  these  are  the  men  on  earth  that  most 
harm  work 

To  the  poor  people  that  buy  in  small  par- 
cels. 

They  pilfer  from  the  people  privily  and  oft, 

And  grow  rich  through  retailing,  and  buy 
themselves  rents 

With  what  the  poor  people  should  put  in 
their  bellies. 

For  if  they  acted  honestly,  they  would  not 
build  so  high, 

Nor  buy  burgh  holdings,  be  ye  certain. 

But  Meed  the  maiden  the  mayor  she  be- 
sought 

From  all  such  sellers  silver  to  take, 

Or  presents,  not  in  pence,  as  cups  of  sil- 
ver, 80 

Rings  with  rubies,  the  retailer  to  favor. 

"  For  my  love,"  quoth  the  lady, "  love  them 
well,  each  one, 

And  suffer  them  to  sell  somewhat  beyond 
reason." 

But  Solomon  the  sage,  a  sermon  he  made, 

To  amend  mayors  and  men  that  guard  the 
law, 

And  told  them  this  theme  that  I  shall  tell 

now: 

Ignis  devorabit  talernacula  eomm  qui  li- 
benter  accipiunt  munera.8 

Among  these    lettered4  men  this    Latin 
meaneth 

That  fire  shall  fall  and  burn  at  the  last 

The  houses  and  the  homes  of  them  that  de- 
sire 

For  to  have  gifts  in  youth  or  in  eld.          90 

»  Matthew,  T!,  2. 

i  Fire  shall  consume  the  tabernacles  of  bribery,  Job, 
XT,  34. 

<  A  lewedc. 


WILLIAM  LANGLAND 


Now  be  ye  ware,  if  ye  will,  ye  masters  of 

the  law, 
For  the  truth  shall  be  sought  of  your  souls, 

so  help  me  God! 
The  toleration  that  ye  grant  such  wrongs  to 

work. 
While  the  chance  is  in  your  choice,  choose 

ye  the  best. 
The  king  came  from  council,  and  called 

for  Meed, 
And   sent  off   quickly  servants  to  fetch 

her, 
And  brought  her  to  the  presence,  with  bliss 

and  with  joy; 
With    mirth    and    with    minstrelsy    they 

pleased  her  each  one. 
Courteously  the  king  commenceth  to  tell, 
To  Meed  the  maiden  speaketh  those  words: 
"  Unwisely,  I  wis,  wrought  hast  thou  oft;  101 
But  worse   wroughtest  thou  never    than 

when  thou  False  took. 
But  I  forgive  thee  this  guilt,  and  grant 

thee  my  grace; 

Henceforth  to  thy  deathday  do  so  no  more. 
I  have  a  knight  called  Conscience,  come 

lately  from  far, 
If  he  wish  thee  to  wife,  wilt  thou  him 

have?" 

"Yea,  lord,"  quoth  that  lady,  "Lord  for- 
bid I  should  other  ! 
Unless  I  bow  to  your  bidding,  hang  me  at 

once  ! " 
Then  was  Conscience  called  to  come  and 

appear 
Before  the  king  and  his  council,  clerks  and 

others.  no 

Kneeling,  Conscience  to  the  king  made 

obeisance, 
To  know  what  his  will  was,  and  what  he 

would  do. 
•*  Wilt  thou  wed  this  woman,"  quoth  the 

king,  "  if  I  will  assent  ? 
She  is  fain  of  thy  fellowship,  and  would  be 

thy  mate." 
"Nay,"    quoth    Conscience    to  the  king, 

"Christ  forbid  it  me! 
Ere  I  wed  such  a  wife,  woe  me  betide  I 
She,  is   frail   of  her   flesh,  fickle  of   her 

tongue, 

She  maketh  men  misdo  many  score  times; 
Trusting  to  her  treasure,  find  sorrow  full 

many. 
To    wives    and    widows    wantonness   she 

teacheth;  120 

Learneth  them  lechery  that  love  her  gifts; 


Our  father  Adam  l  she  brought  down  with 

fair  promise; 

Poisoned  popes,  and  impaireth  Holy  Church. 
There  is  no  better  bawd,  by  Him  that  me 

made! 
Between  heaven  and  hell,  in  earth  though 

men  sought. 
She  is  wanton  in  her  wishes,  tale-bearing 

with  her  tongue, 
Common  as  the  cart-road  to  knaves  and  to 

all; 

To  priests,  to  minstrels,  to  lepers  in  hedges, 
Jurors  and  sumrn  oners,  such  men  her  praise; 
Sheriffs  of  shires  were  lost  but  for  her.  130 
She  causeth  men  to  lose  their  land,  and 

their  lives  after, 
And  letteth  prisoners  go,  and  payeth  for 

them  oft. 

She  giveth  the  jailer  gold  and  groats  to- 
gether, 
To  unfetter  the  false,  to  flee  where  they 

like. 
She  taketh  the  true  by  the  top,  and  tieth 

him  fast, 
And  for  hate  hangeth  him  that  harm  did 

never. 
They  that  are  curst  in  consistory  count  it 

not  at  a  rush, 
For  she  gives  capes  to  the  commissary,  and 

coats  to  the  clerks; 
She  is  absolved  as  soon  as  herself  it  pleas- 

eth. 

She  may  as  much  do  in  space  of  one  month 
As  your  secret  seal  in  seven  score  days.  141 
She  is  privy  with  the  pope,  as  provisors 

know; 

Sir  Simony  and  she  put  seals  on  the  bulls; 
She  blesseth  the  bishops,  though  ignorant 

they  be. 
Prebendaries,  parsons,  priests,  she  main- 

taineth, 
To  keep  lemans  and  concubines  all  their 

life  days, 
And  bring  forth  children  against  the  laws 

forbidding  it. 
Where  she  stands  well  with  the  king,  woe 

to  the  realm! 
For  she  is  favorable  to  False  who  tramples 

Truth  oft. 

Barons  and  burgesses  she  brings  into  servi- 
tude, 150 
She  bribes  with  her  jewels,  our  justices  she 

ruins. 

i  Bo  Vernon  MS.    All  others  read  Your  father;  i.e. 
Edward  II. 


PIERS  THE  PLOUGHMAN 


She  lietb  against  the  law,  and  hindereth  it 

so  hard 
That  faith   may  make  no  headway,  her 

florins  go  so  thick. 

She  leadeth  the  law  as  she  liketh,  and  love- 
days  maketh, 
Bewilderment  for  a  poor  man,  though  he 

plead  ever. 

Law  is  so  lordly  and  loath  to  make  an  end 
Without  presents  or  pence,  it  pleaseth  full 

few. 
Learning  and  covetousness  she   coupleth 

together. 
This  is  the  life  of  the  lady,  our  Lord  give 

her  sorrow! 
And  all  that  maintain  her,  mischance  them 

betide!  160 

For  the  poor  may  have  no  power  to  com- 
plain though  they  suffer, 
Such  a  master  is  Meed  among  men  of 

goods." 
Then  mourned  Meed,  and  made  her  moan 

to  the  king 

To  have  space  to  speak,  hoping  to  succeed. 
Then  the  king  granted  her  grace  with  a 

good  will: 
"  Excuse  thyself  if  thou  canst,  I  can  say  no 

more; 

For  Conscience  hath  accused  thee,  to  dis- 
miss thee  for  ever." 
"  Nay,  lord,"  quoth  that  lady, "  believe  him 

the  worse 
When  ye  know  verily  where  the  wrong 

lieth. 
Where  mischief  is  great,  lord,  Meed  may 

help,  170 

And  thou  knowest,  Conscience,  I  came  not 

to  chide 
Nor  to  defame  thy  person  with  a  proud 

heart. 
Well  thou  wittest,  Conscience,  unless  thou 

wilt  lie, 

Thou  hast  hung  on  my  neck  eleven  times, 
And  also  grasped  my  gold,  and  given  it 

where  thou  likedst. 
Why  tbou  art  wroth  now,  seems  to  me  a 

wonder, 
For  yet  I  can,  as  before,  honor  thee  with 

gifts, 
And  maintain  thy  manhood,  more  than  thou 

knowest, 
And  thou  hast  foully  defamed  me,  before 

the  king  here. 
For  never  killed  I  a  king,  nor  counselled 

thereto;  180 


Nor  did  I  ever  as  thou  thinkest,1 1  appeal 

to  the  king. 
In  Normandy  was  he  not  annoyed  for  my 

sake; 
But  thou  thyself,  in  truth,  didst  shame  him 

there, 
Creptest  into  a  cabin,  to  keep  thy  nails 

from  cold, 
Thoughtest  that  winter  would  have  lasted 

ever, 
And  dreadedst  to  have  been  dead  for  a  dim 

cloud, 
And  hastedst   homeward  for  thy   belly* 

hunger. 
Without  pity,  pillager,  poor  men  thou  rob- 

bedest, 
And  bore  their  brass  on  thy  back  to  Calais 

to  sell. 
There  I  stayed  with  my  lord,  his  life  to 

save,  190 

Made  him  mirth  full  much,  to  leave  off 

mourning, 
Clapped  them  on  the  backs,  their  hearts  to 

embolden, 
Made  them  leap  for  hope  to  have  me  at 

demand: 
Had  I  been  marshal  of  his  men,  by  Mary 

of  heaven ! 

I  durst  have  laid  my  life,  and  no  less  bet, 
He  'd  have  been  lord  of  that  land,  in  length 

and  in  breadth; 

And  also  king  of  that  kith,  his  kin  to  help; 
The  least  bairn  of  his  blood  a  baron's  peer. 
Truly,  thou  Conscience,  thou  didst  counsel 

him  thence, 

To  leave  that  lordship  for  a  little  silver,  »o« 
That  is  the  richest  realm  that  the  rain  falls 

upon  ! 

It  becometh  a  king  who  keepeth  a  realm 
To  give  meed  to  men  that  meekly  him 

serve; 
To  aliens,  to  all  men,  to  honor  them  with 

gifts. 
Meed  maketh  him  beloved  and  held  to  be 

a  man. 

Emperors  and  earls,  and  all  manner  of  lords, 
Through  gifts  get  young  men  to  run  and 

to  ride. 

The  pope  and  his  prelates  presents  receive, 
And  give  men  meed  to  maintain  their  laws. 
Servants  for  their  service  —  ye  see  well  the 

truth  —  no 

Get  meed  from  their  masters  as  they  may 

agree. 

i  Adiut;  Bdemetl. 


WILLIAM  LANGLAND 


Beggars  for  their  prayers  beg  men  for 

meed, 

Minstrels  for  their  mirth  ask  for  meed. 
The  king  gives  meed  to  his  men  to  make 

peace  in  the  laud; 
Men  that  teach  children 1  meed  from  them 

crave. 
Priests  that  preach  to  the  people  to  be 

good 
Ask  meed  and  mass-pence  and  their  meat 

too. 
All  kinds  of  craftsmen  crave  meed,  for  their 

'prentices; 

Meed  and  merchandise  must  needs  go  to- 
gether. 

There  may  no  wight,  as  I  ween,  without 

meed  live."  220 

"  Now,"  quoth  the  king  to  Conscience,  "  by 

Christ,  as  me  thinks, 

Meed  is  worthy  much  mastery  to  have! " 
"  Nay,"  quoth  Conscience  to  the  king,  and 

kneeled  to  the  ground ; 
"  There  be  two  kinds  of  meed,  my  lord,  by 

thy  leave. 
The  one  good  God  of  His  grace  giveth,  in 

His  bliss, 
To  them  that  work  well  while  they  are 

here. 
The  prophet  preached  it,  and  put  in  the 

Psalter, 
Qui  pecuniam  suam  non  dedit  ad  usuram, 

etc.2 
Take  no  meed,  my  lord,  from  men  that  are 

true; 
Love  them,  believe  them,  for  our  Lord  of 

heaven's  love. 
God's  meed  and  His  mercy  therewith  thou 

mayst  win.  230 

But  there  is  a  meed  without  measure 

that  desireth  mastery, 
To  maintain  misdoers  meed  do  they  take ; 
And  thereof  saith  the  Psalter  in  the  end  of 

the  Psalms, 
In  quorum  manibus  iniquitates  sunt ;  dextra 

eorum  repleta  est  muneribus  j  8 
That  their  right  hand  is  heaped  full  of 

gifts, 
And  they  that  grasp  their  gifts,  so  help  me 

God! 
They  shall  abide  it  bitterly,  or  the  Book 

lieth. 

»  B.  A  knoweth  clerkei. 

*  He  that  putteth  not  out  his  money  to  usury  .  .  . 
shall  never  be  moved.  P.ialms,  xv,  5. 

>  In  whose  hand*  is  mischief,  and  their  right  hand 
la  full  of  bribes.  Pfalms,  xxvi,  10. 


Priests  and  parsons,  that  pleasure  desire 
And  take  meed  and  money  for  masses  that 

they  sing, 

Shall  have  reward  in  this  world,  as  Mat- 
thew hath  granted: 

A  men  dlco  vobis,  receperunt  mercedem  suam.4 
What  laborers  and  low  folk  get  from  their 

masters  240 

Is  no  manner  of  meed,  but  moderate  hire. 
In  merchandise  is  no  meed,  I  may  it  well 

avow; 

It  is  a  permutation,  one  penny  for  another. 
But  didst  thou  never  read  Kings,6  thou  re- 
creant Meed, 

Why  vengeance  fell  on  Saul  and  his  chil- 
dren? 

God  sent  to  say,  by  Samuel's  mouth, 
That  Agag  and  Amalek,  and  all  his  people 

after, 
Should  die  for  a  deed  that  his  ancestors 

had  done, 
Against  Israel,  and  Aaron,  and  Moses  his 

brother. 
Samuel  said  to  Saul,  'God  sendeth  thee 

commandment  250 

To  be  obedient  and  ready  his  bidding  to 

do: 

"  Wend  thither  with  thy  host  women  to  kill, 
Children  and  churls,  chop  them  to  death; 
Look  thou  kill  the  king,  covet  not  his  goods 
For  millions  of  money;  murder  them  each 

one, 

Men  and  beasts,  burn  them  all  to  ashes."  ' 
And  because  he  killed  not  the  king,  as 

Christ  himself  commanded, 
Coveted    fair    cattle,  and  killed  not  his 

beasts, 
But  brought  with  him  the  beasts,  as  the 

Bible  telleth, 

God  sent  to  say  that  Saul  should  die,       260 
And  all  his  seed  for  that  sin  shamefully 

end. 
Such  a  mischief  Meed  made  the  king  to 

have, 
That  God  hated  him  ever,  and  his  heirs 

after. 
The  conclusion  of  this  clause  care  I  not  to 

show, 
In  case  it  should  annoy  me;  an  end  will  I 

make: 
And  even  as  Agag  had  it,  to  some  will  it 

happen; 

«  Verily  I  say  nnto  you,  they  have  received  their  re- 
ward, Matthew,  vi,  2. 
i  1  Samuel,  zv. 


PIERS  THE  PLOUGHMAN 


43 


Samuel  will  sky  him,  and   Saul  will  be 

blamed, 

David  shall  be  diademed  and  daunt  them  all, 
And  one  Christian  king  keep  us  each  one. 
Conscience  knoweth  this,  for  common  sense 

me  taught  270 

That  Reason  shall  reign,  and  realms  govern; 
Meed  shall  no  more  be  master  on  earth, 
But  Love  and  Lowness  and  Loyalty  to- 
gether. 
And  on  him  that  trespasseth  against  Truth, 

or  doth  against  his  will, 
Loyalty  shall  execute  the  law,  or  he  shall 

lose  his  life. 
Shall  no  sergeant  for  that  service  wear  a 

silk  hood, 

Nor  any  striped  robe  with  rich  fur. 
Meed,  from  the  misdoers,  maketh  men  so 

rich 
That  Law  is  become  a  lord,  and  Loyalty  is 

poor. 
Unkindness  is  commander,  and  Kindness  is 

banished.  280 

But  Common  Sense  shall  come  yet,  and 

Conscience  together, 
And  make  of  Law  a  laborer,  Bach  Love 

shall  arise." 

PASSUS  IV 
"  Cease,"  said  the  king,  "  I  suffer  you  no 

more. 
Te  shall  be  reconciled  in  truth,  and  serve 

me  both. 
Kiss  her,"  quoth  the  king,  "  Conscience,  I 

command." 
"Nay,  by  Christ,"  quoth  Conscience,  "I 

take  my  leave  rather  ! 
Unless  Reason  advise  me  thereto,  first  will 

I  die!" 
"  And  I  command  thee,"  quoth  the  king  to 

Conscience  then, 
"  That  tliou  baste  thee  to  ride,  and  Reason 

thou  fetch ; 
Command  him  that  he  come,  my  counsel  to 

hear. 
For  he  shall  rule  my  realm,  and  advise  me 

the  best 
About  Meed  and  others,  and  what  man 

shall  wed  her;  10 

And  take   care,  Conscience,  so  help  me 

Christ  I 
How  thou  leadest  my  people,  learned  and 

lay." 
44 1  am  pleased  with  that  promise,"  said  the 

fellow  then, 


And  rode  right  to  Reason,  and  whispered 

in  his  ear, 
Said  as  the  king  sent,  and  then  took  his 

leave. 
"  I  shall  array  me  to  ride,"  quoth  Reason, 

"  rest  thee  awhile,"  — 
And  called  Cato  his  servant,  courteous  of 

speech  — 
"  Set  my  saddle  upon  Suffer-till-I-see-my- 

time, 
And  look  thou  girth  him  well  with  very 

many  girths; 
Hang  on  him  a  heavy  bridle  to  bear  his 

head  low;  20 

Yet  will  he  make  many  a  neigh,  ere  he 

come  there." 
Then  Conscience  on  his  steed  rideth  forth 

fast, 

And  Reason  with  him  rideth,  hurrying  hard, 
But  on  a  wain  Witty  and  Wisdom  together 
Followed  them  fast,  for  they  had  to  do 
In  Exchequer  and  Chancery,  to  be  dis- 
charged of  things; 
And  rode  fast,  for  Reason  must  advise 

them  how  best 
To  save  themselves  from  shame  and  from 

harm. 

But  Conscience  came  first  to  court  by  a  mile, 
And  ran  forward  with  Reason,  right  to  the 

king.  30 

Courteously  the  king  then  came  to  Rea- 
son, 
Between  himself  and  his  son  set  him  on  the 

bench, 

And  consulted  a  great  while  wisely  to- 
gether. 
Then  Peace  came  to  parliament,  put  up 

petition, 
How  that  Wrong  against  his  will  his  wife 

had  taken, 

And  how  he  ravished  Rose,  Reynald's  love, 
And  Margaret  of  her  maidenhood,  for  all 

she  could  do. 
"  Both  my  geese  and  my  pigs  his  fellows 

fetched  away; 
I  dare  not  for  dread  of  them  fight  nor 

chide. 
He  borrowed  of  me  Bayard,  and  brought 

him  again  never,  40 

Nor  any  farthing  for  him,  for  aught  that  I 

could  plead. 
He  maintained]  his  men  to  murder  mine 

own, 
Forestalleth  me  at  fairs,  brawleth  at  my 

bargainings, 


44 


WILLIAM  LANGLAND 


Breaketh   in  my   barn-door,  and  bearcth 

away  my  wheat, 
And  giveth  me  but  a  tally  for  ten  quarter 

of  oats. 
And  yet  he  beat  me  besides,  and  lieth  by 

my  maiden ; 

I  am  not  so  hardy  to  look  him  iu  the  face." 
The  king  knew  he  said  sooth,  for  Conscience 

him  told. 
Wrong  was  a-feared  then,  and  Wisdom 

sought 

To  make  his  peace  with  pence,  and  prof- 
fered forth  money,  50 
And  said,  "  Had  I  love  from  the  king,  little 

•would  I  reck 
Though  Peace  and  his  power  complained  on 

me  ever." 

Wisdom  went  then,  and  so  did  Wit, 
Because  Wrong  had  done  so  wicked  a  deed, 
And  warned  Wrong  then,  with  such  a  wise 

tale :  — 

"Whoso  worketh  wilfully  maketh  wrath  oft: 
I  say  it  about  thyself,  thou  shalt  it  soon  find. 
Unless  Meed  make  it  right,  thy  ill-luck  is 

on  thee, 
For  both  thy  life  and  thy  land  lie  in  the 

king's  grace." 

Wrong  then  to  Wisdom  wept  for  help,     60 
Him  for  his  handy-dandy l  readily  he  paid. 
Then  Wisdom  and  Wit  went  together 
And  took  Meed  with  them,  mercy  to  win. 
Peace  put  forth  his  head,  showed  his  bloody 

poll: 

"  Without  guilt,  God  wot,  got  I  this  harm." 
Conscience  and  the  king  knew  the  truth, 
Knew  well  that  Wrong  was  a  wicked  one 

ever. 
But  Wisdom  and  Wit  were  zealous  and 

eager 
To  overcome  the  king  with  money  if  they 

might. 
The  king  swore  then,  by  Christ,  and  by  his 

crown  both,  7o 

That  Wrong  for  his  works  should  woe  suffer, 
And  commanded  a  constable  to  cast  him  in 

irons  : 
"  He  shall  not  these  seven  years  see  his  feet 

once." 
"  God  wot,"  quoth  Wisdom,  "  that  were  not 

the  best; 

If  he  amends  make,  let  him  give  surety; 
To  be  a  pledge  for  his  bale,2  and  buy  him 

boot,8 


i  Probably,  corrupt  influence. 
<  Injury,  harm  done. 


«  Redress. 


And  amend  his  misdeed,  and  be  always  the 

better." 
Wit  accorded  herewith  and  said  to  him  the 

same; 
"  It  is  better  that  Boot  should  bring  down 

Bale 
Than  that  Bale  be  beaten  and  Boot  be 

ne'er  the  better."  go 

Then  Meed  humbled  herself  and  mercy  be- 
sought, 
And  proffered  Peace  a  present  all  of  pure 

red  gold: 
"  Have  this  from  me,"  quoth  she, "  to  amend 

thy  harm  with, 
For  I  will  wager  for  Wrong,  he  will  do  so 

no  more." 

Peace  then  pitifully  prayed  the  king 
To  have  mercy  on  that  man,  that  harmed 

him  oft; 
"  Because  he  hath  pledged  me  amends,  as 

Wisdom  him  taught, 

I  forgive  him  that  guilt,  with  a  good-will; 
So  that  ye  assent  thereto,  I  can  no  more 

say, 
For  Meed  hath  made  me  amends,  I  may  no 

more  ask."  90 

"Nay,"  quoth  the  king  then,  "so  God  give 

me  bliss ! 
Wrong  wendeth  not  so  away,  till  I  wot 

more; 

Leapt  he  so  lightly  away,  laugh  he  would 
And  again  be  the  bolder  to  beat  my  serv- 
ants; 

Unless  Reason  have  ruth  on  him,  he  re- 
main eth  in  the  stocks 
As  long  as  I  live,  unless  more  love  change 

it. 
Then  some  advised  Reason  to  have  ruth 

of  that  rascal, 
And  to  counsel  the  king  and  Conscience 

both; 
That  Meed  might  be  surety,  Reason  they 

besought. 
"  Advise  me  not,"  quoth  Reason,  "  ruth  to 

have,  ioo 

Till  lords  and  ladies  all  love  truth, 
Till  Peronelle's  fur  be  put  in  her  box, 
Till  over-cherished  children  be  chastened 

with  rods, 

Till  the  holiness  of  ribalds  be  held  [com- 
mon] as  a  hind; 
Till  clerks  and  knights  be  courteous  witl 

their  mouths 
And  hate  to  do  their  ribaldry,  and  use  itni 

more; 


PIERS  THE  PLOUGHMAN 


45 


Till  priests  their  preaching  prove  in  them- 
selves, 

And  do  it  in  deed,  to  draw  us  to  God; 
Till  Saint  James  be  sought  where  I  shall 

ordain, 
And  no  man  go  to  Galicia,  unless  he  go 

for  ever;  no 

And  no  Rome-runners  for  robbers  abroad 
Bear  over  sea  silver  that  beareth  the  king's 

stamp, 
Neither  groats  nor  gold  graven  with  the 

king's  crown, 
Upon  forfeit  of  that  fee,  whoever  finds  it  at 

Dover, 

Unless  it  be  a  merchant  or  his  men,  or  mes- 
senger with  letters, 

Or  provisors  or  priests  that  popes  advance. 
"  And  yet,"  quoth  Reason,  "  by  the  rood, 

I  shall  no  ruth  have, 
While  Meed  hath  any  mastery  to  plead  in 

this  hall ; 
But  I  may  show  you  examples,  I  say  it  of 

myself. 
For  I  say  it  for  my  soul's  sake,  if  it  so 

were  120 

That  I  were  king  with  crown,  to  keep  a 

realm, 
Should  never  Wrong  in  this  world,  that  I 

might  know  of, 
Be  unpunished  by  my  power,  on  peril  of  my 

soul ! 

Nor  get  grace  through  gift,  so  help  me  God  ! 
Nor  for  meed  get  mercy,  unless  meekness 

cause  it. 
For  Nullum  Malum,  the  man,  met  with  Im- 

punitum, 

And  bade  Nullum  Bonum  be  irremuneratum.1 
Let  thy  clerk,   sir  king,  construe  this  in 

English; 
And  if  thou  workest  it  wisely  I  wager  both 

my  ears 
That  Law  shall  be  a  laborer  and  cart  dung 

a-field,  130 

And  Love  shall  lead  thy  land,  as  it  dearly 

please th  thee." 
Clerks  that  were  confessors  got  together 

in  couples 
For  to  construe  this  clause,  and  explain  it 

after. 
When  Reason  to  these  men  rehearsed  these 

words, 

Was  none  in  that  courtroom,  great  or  small, 
That  held  not  Reason  a  master  there,  and 

Meed  a  great  wretch. 
.  *  No  evil  unpunUhed  ;  no  good  unrewarded. 


Love  made  light  of  Meed,  and  laughed  her 

to  scorn, 

And  said  it  so  loud  that  Soothness  it  heard: 
"  Whoso  wisheth  her  to  wife,  for  wealth  of 

her  goods, 
Unless  he  be  picked  for  a  cuckold,  cut  off 

both  mine  ears  I "  140 

Was  neither  Wisdom  then,  nor  Witty  his 

fellow, 

That  could  utter  a  word,  to  gainsay  Reason; 
But  stared  in  a  brown  study  and  stood  as 

beasts. 
The  king  accorded,  by  Christ,  to  Reason's 

cunning, 
And  repeated  what  Reason  had  rightly 

shown: 
"  But  it  is  hard,  by  mine  head,  to  bring  it 

hereto, 

All  my  lieges  to  lead  in  this  level  way." 
"  By  Him  that  was  stretched  on  the  rood," 

quoth  Reason  to  the  king, 
"  Unless  I  rule  thus  thy  realm,  rend  out  my 

ribs ! 
If  it  be  so  that  obedience  be  at  my  com* 

mand."  150 

"  I  assent,"  quoth  the  king, "  by  Saint  Mary, 

my  lady, 
When  my  council  is  come,  of  clerks  and  of 

earls. 

But  readily,  Reason,  thou  ridest  not  hence, 
For  as  long  as  I  live,  let  thee  go  will  I  not." 
"  I  am  ready,"  quoth  Reason,  "  to  remain 

with  thee  ever; 
So  that  Conscience  be  our  counsellor,  care 

I  for  no  better." 
"I  grant  gladly,"  quoth  the  king,  "God 

forbid  he  fail  us, 
And  as  long  as  I  live,  live  we  together." 

PASSUS  v 
The  king  and  his  knights  to  the  church 

went 
To  hear  matins  and  mass,  and  to  the  meat 

after. 
Then  waked  I  from  my  winking,  I  was  wo- 

f  ul  withal 

That  I  had  not  heavier  slept  and  seen  more. 
Ere  I  a  furlong  had  fared,  a  faintness  me 

seized, 
That  further  might  I  not  a-foot,  for  default 

of  sleep. 

I  sat  softly  ad  own,  and  said  my  creed, 
And  so  I  babbled  on   my  beads  that  it 

brought  me  asleep. 
Then  saw  I  much  more  than  I  before  told, 


WILLIAM  LANGLAND 


For  I  saw  the  field  full  of  folk  that  I  before 

showed,  10 

And  Conscience  with  a  cross  came  to  preach. 

He  prayed  the  people  to  have  pity  on 

themselves, 
And  proved  that  these  pestilences  were  for 

pure  sin, 
And  this  southwestern  wind  on  a  Saturday 

at  even 
Was  clearly  for  pride,  and  for  no  cause 

else, 
Peartrees  and  plumtrees  were  dashed  to 

the  ground, 
In  ensample  to  men  that  we  should  do  the 

better. 
Beeches  and  broad  oaks  were  blown  to  the 

earth. 
And   turned  the  tail  upward  in  token  of 

dread 

That  deadly  sin  ere  Doomsday  should  de- 
stroy them  all.  20 
On  this  matter  I  might  mumble  full  long, 
But  I  say  as  I  saw,  so  help  me  God  ! 
How  Conscience  with  a  cross  commenced  to 

preach. 
He  bade  wasters  go  work  at  what  they  best 

could, 
And  win  what  they  wasted  with  some  sort 

of  craft. 
He  prayed  Peronelle  her  fur-trimming  to 

leave, 

And  keep  it  in  her  coffer  for  capital  at  need. 
Thomas  he  taught  to  take  two  staves, 
And  fetch  home  Felice  from  the  cucking- 
stool. 

He  warned  Wat  his  wife  was  to  blame,    30 
That  her  head-dress  was  worth  a  mark  and 

his  hood  worth  a  groat. 
He   charged  merchants  to  chasten  their 

children, 
Let  them  lack  no  respect,  while  they  are 

young. 

He  prayed  priests  and  prelates  together, 
What  they  preach  to  the  people  to  prove  it 

in  themselves  — 
"  And  live  as  ye  teach  us,  we  will  love  you 

the  better." 
And  then  he  advised  the  orders  their  rule 

to  obey  — 
"  Lest  the  king  and  his  council  abridge  your 

supplies, 
And  be  steward  in  your  stead,  till  ye  be 

better  ordered. 
And  ye  that  seek  St.  James,  and  saints  at 

Rome,  40 


Lust 


Seek  me  Saint  Truth,  for  He  can  save  you 

all; 

Qui  cum  patre  etfilio,  fare  you  well  !  " 
Then  ran  Repentance  and  rehearsed  this 

theme, 
And  made  William  to  weep  water  with  his 

eyes. 

Peruel  Proud-heart  flung  herself  on 

the  ground, 
And  lav  long  ere  she  looked  up,  and  to  Our 

Lady  cried, 

And  promised  to  Him  who  all  of  us  made 
She  would  unsew  her  smock,  and  wear  in- 
stead a  hair  shirt 
To  tame  her  flesh  with,  that  frail  was  to 

sin: 
"Shall  never  light  heart  seize  me,  but  I 

shall  hold  me  down  50 

And  endure  to  be  slandered  as  I  never  did 

before. 
And  now  I  can  put  on  meekness,  and  mercy 

beseech 
Of  all  of  whom  I  have  had  envy  in  my 

heart." 

Lecher  said  "  Alas  ! "  and  to  Our 

Lady  cried 
To  win  for  him  mercy  for  his  misdeeds, 
Between  God  himself  and  his  poor  soul, 
Provided  that  he  should  on  Saturday,  for 

seven  years, 

Drink  but  with  the  duck  and  dine  but  once. 
_          Envy,  with  heavy  heart,  asketh  after 

shrift, 
And  greatly  his  guiltiness  beginneth  to 

show.  60 

Pale  as  a  pellet,  in  a  palsy  he  seemed, 
Clothed  in  a  coarse  cloth,  I  could  him  not 

describe ; 
A  kirtle  and  a  short  cloak,  a  knife  by  his 

side; 
Of  a  friar's  frock  were  the  fronts  of  his 

sleeves. 

As  a  leek  that  had  lain  long  in  the  sun 
So  looked  he  with  lean  cheeks;  foully  he 

frowned. 
His  body  was  swollen;  for  wrath  he  bit  his 

lips. 
Wrathf  ully  he  clenched  his  fist,  he  thought 

to  avenge  himself 
With  works  or  with  words,  when  he  saw  his 

time. 

"  Venom,  or  varnish,  or  vinegar,  I  trow,  70 
Boils  in  my  belly,  or  grows  there,  I  ween. 
Many  a  day  could  I  not  do  as  a  man  ought) 
Such  wind  in  my  belly  welleth  ere  I  dine. 


PIERS  THE  PLOUGHMAN 


47 


I  have  a  neighbor  nigh  me,  I  have  annoyed 

him  oft, 
Blamed  him  behind  his  back,  to  bring  him 

in  disgrace, 
Injured  him  by  nay  power,  punished  him  full 

oft, 

Belied  him  to  lords,  to  make  him  lose  silver, 
Turned  his  friends  to  foes,  with  my  false 

tongue; 
His  grace  and  his  good  luck  grieve  me  full 

sore. 
Between  him   and  his  household  I  have 

made  wrath;  80 

Both  his  life  and  his  limb  were  lost  through 

my  tougue. 

When  I  met  in  the  market  him  I  most  hate, 
I  hailed  him  as  courteously  as  if  I  were  his 

friend. 
He  is  doughtier  than  1, 1  dare  do  him  no 

harm. 

But  had  I  mastery  and  might,  I  had  mur- 
dered him  for  ever ! 

When  I  come  to  the  church,  and  kneel  be- 
fore the  rood, 
And  should   pray  for  the   people,  as  the 

priest  teacheth  us, 
Then  I  cry  upon  my  knees  that  Christ  give 

them  sorrow 
That  have  borne  away  my  bowl  and  my 

broad  sheet. 

From  the  altar  I  turn  mine  eye  and  be- 
hold 90 
How  Henry  hath  a  new  coat,  and  his  wife 

another; 
Then  I  wish  it  were  mine,  and  all  the  web 

with  it. 
At  his  losing  I  laugh,  in  my  heart  I  like 

it; 
But  at  his  winning  I  weep,  and  bewail  the 

occasion. 
I  deem  that  men  do  ill,  yet  I  do  much 

worse, 
For  I  would  that  every  wight  in  this  world 

were  my  servant, 
And  whoso  hath  more  than  I,  maketh  my 

heart  angry. 
Thus  I  live  loveless,  like  an  ill-tempered 

d°g» 

That  all  my  breast  swelleth  with  the  bit- 
terness of  my  gall ; 

No  sngar  is  sweet  enough  to  assuage  it  at 
all,  ioo 

Nor  no  remedy  drive  it  from  my  heart; 

If  shrift  then  should  sweep  it  out,  a  great 
wonder  it  were." 


"  Yes,  surely,"  quoth  Repentance,  and  ad- 
vised him  to  good, 

"  Sorrow  for  their  sins  saveth  full  many." 

"  I  am  sorry,"  quoth  Envy,  "  I  am  seldom 
other, 

And  that  maketh  me  so  mad,  for  I  may  not 
avenge  me." 

Oovetonsnega    Thfin   cam,*   Covetousness,    I 

could  not  describe  him, 

So  hungry  and  so  hollow  Sir  Harvey  looked. 

He  was  beetle-browed  with  two  bleared 

eyes, 

And  like  a  leathern  purse  flapped  his  cheeks; 
In  a  torn  tabard  of  twelve  winters'  age;  m 
Unless  a  louse  could  leap,  I  can  not  believe 
That  she  could  wander  on  that  walk,  it  was 

so  threadbare. 
"  I  have  been  covetous,"  quoth  this  Caitiff, 

"  I  admit  it  here ; 

For  some  time  I  served  Sim  at '  The  Oak ' 
And  was  his  pledged  apprentice,  his  profit 

to  watch. 

First  I  learned  to  lie,  in  a  lesson  or  two, 
And  wickedly  to  weigh  was  my  second  les- 
son. 
To  Winchester  and  to  Weyhill  I  went  to 

the  fair 
With  many  kinds  of  merchandise,  as  my 

master  bade;  120 

But  had  not  the  grace  of  guile  gone  among 

my  ware, 
It  had  been  unsold  these  seven  year,  so 

help  me  God ! 
Then  I  betook  me  to  the  drapers,  my 

grammar  to  learn, 
To  draw  the  list1  along,  to  make  it  seem 

longer. 
Among  these  rich  striped  cloths  learned  I 

a  lesson, 
Pierced    them    with   a    pack-needle,   and 

pleated  them  together, 
Put  them  in  a  press,  and  fastened  them 

therein 
Till  ten  yards  or  twelve  were  drawn  out  to 

thirteen. 
And    my    wife    at    Westminster,    that 

woollen  cloth  made, 

Spake  to  the  spinners  to  spin  it  soft.  130 
The  pound  that  she  weighed  by,  weighed  a 

quarter  more 

Than  my  balance  did,  when  I  weighed  true. 

I  bought  her  barley,  she  brewed  it  to  sell; 

Penny-ale  and  white  perry,  she  poured  it 

together, 

i  The  edge  of  the  cloth,  In  measuring. 


48 


WILLIAM  LANGLAND 


For  laborers  and  low  folk,  that  work  for 

their  living. 
The  best  in  the  bed-chamber  lay  by  the 

wall, 

Whoso  tasted  thereof  bought  it  ever  after, 
A  gallon  for  a  groat,  God  wot,  no  less 
When  it  came  in  cups.   Such  tricks  I  used. 
Rose  the  retailer  is  her  right  name;         140 
She  hath  been  a  huckster  these  eleven  win- 

ters. 
But  I  swear  now  soothly  that  soon  will  I 

quit, 
And  never  wickedly  weigh,  nor  false  trade 

practise, 
But  wend  to  Walsingham,  and  my  wife 

also, 
And  pray  the  Rood  of  Bromholm  to  bring 

me  out  of  debt." 


And  wanders  churchwards,  his  shrift  to  tell, 
Then  Bet  the  brewster  bade  him  good  mor- 

row, 
And  then  she  asked  him  whither  he  would 

go-  M9 

"  To  holy  church,"  quoth  he,  "  to  hear  mass, 
Since  I  shall  be  shriven,  and  sin  no  more." 
"I  have  good  ale,  gossip,"  quoth  she; 

"  Glutton,  what  say  you  ?  " 
"  Hast  aught  in  thy  purse,"  quoth  he,  "  any 

hot  spices  ?  " 

0  Yea,  Glutton,  gossip,"  quoth  she,  "  God 

wot,  full  good; 

1  have  pepper  and  peony-seeds,  and  a  pound 

of  garlick, 
A  farthing  worth  of  fennel-seed,  for  these 

fasting  days." 
Then  goeth  Glutton  in,  and  great  oaths 

after; 

Cis  the  shoemaker's  wife  sat  on  the  bench, 
Wat  the  ward  of  the  warren,  and  his  wife 

both, 
Tomkin  the  tinker  and  twain  of  his  serv- 

ants ;  160 

Hick    the   hackney-man,  and   Hogg   the 

needle  seller, 
Clarice  of  Cock's-Lane,  and  the  clerk  of  the 

church, 
Sir  Piers  of  Prie-Dieu,  and  Pernel  of  Flan- 

ders, 

Dawe  the  ditcher,  and  a  dozen  others. 
A  fiddler,  a  rat-catcher,  a  scavenger  of 

Cheapside, 
A  rope-maker,  a  riding-boy,  and  Rose  the 

dish-maker, 


Godfrey  of  Garlickshire,  and  Griffin  the 

Welshman, 
And  of  tradesmen  a  band,  early  in  the 

morning 
Stand  Glutton,  with  good-will,  a  treat  in 

good  ale. 
lenient   the   cobbler  cast  off   his 
cloak,  170 

And  at  "  the  new  fair  "  made  offer  to  bar- 
ter it; 

And  Hick  the  ostler  flung  his  hood  after, 

And  bade  Bett  the  butcher  act  on  his  be- 
half. 

Then  were  chapmen  chosen,  the  articles  to 
value; 

Whoso  had  the  hood  should  have  something 
to  boot. 

They  rose  up  rapidly,  and  whispered  to- 
gether, 

And  appraised  the  penny-worths,  and  parted 
them  by  themselves; 

There  were  oaths  a-plenty,  whoso  might 
hear  them. 

They  could  not,  in  conscience,  accord  to- 
gether, 

Till  Robin  the  rope-maker  was  chosen  to 
arise,  igo 

And  named  for  an  umpire,  to  avoid  all  de- 
bate, 

For  he  should  appraise  the  pennyworths, 

as  seemed  good  to  him. 
Then  Hick  the  ostler  had  the  cloak, 

On  condition  that  Clement  should  have  his 
cup  filled, 

And  have  Hick  the  ostler's  hood,  and  hold 
him  well  served; 

And  he  that  first  repented  should  straight 
arise 

And  greet  Sir  Glutton  with  a  gallon  of 

ale. 

There  was  laughing  and  cheating1  and 
"  Let  go  the  cup  !  " 

Bargains  and  beverages  began  to  arise, 

And  they  sat  so  till  evensong,  and  sang 
some  while,  190 

Till  Glutton  had  gulped  down  a  gallon  and 
a  gill. 

He  had  no  strength  to  stand,  till  he  his  staff 

had; 

Then  'gan  he  to  go  like  a  gleeman's  bitch, 
Sometimes  to  the  side,  sometimes  to  the 

rear, 
Like  a  man  laying  lines  to  catch  birds  withe 

»  A  lotering;  B  louryng;  C  lakeryng. 


PIERS  THE  PLOUGHMAN 


49 


When  he  drew  to  the  door,  then  his  eyes 

grew  dim,  200 

He  stumbled  at  the  threshold,  and  threw  to 

the  ground. 
Clement  the  cobbler  caught  Glutton  by  the 

middle, 

And  to  lift  him  up  he  laid  him  on  his  knees; 
And  Glutton  was  a  great  churl,  and  grim 

in  the  lifting, 

And  coughed  up  a  caudle  in  Clement's  lap, 
That  the  hungriest  hound  in  Hertfordshire 
Durst  not  lap  that  loathsomeness,  so  un- 
lovely it  smacketh; 
So  that,  with  all  the  woe  in  the  world,  his 

wife  and  his  wench 
Bore  him  home  to  his  bed,  and  brought  him 

therein. 
And  after  all  this  surfeit,  a  sickness  he 

had,  210 

That  he  slept  Saturday  and  Sunday,  till  sun 

went  to  rest. 
Then  he  waked  from  his  winking,  and 

wiped  his  eyes; 
The  first  word  that  he  spake  was,  "  Where 

is  the  cup  ?  " 
His  wife  warned  him  then,  of  wickedness 

and  sin. 
Then  was  he  ashamed,  that  wretch,  and 

scratched  his  ears, 
And  'gan  to  cry  grievously,  and  great  dole 

to  make 

For  his  wicked  life,  that  he  had  lived. 
M  For  hunger  or  for  thirst,  I  make  my  vow, 
Shall  never  fish  on  Friday  digest  in  my  maw, 
Till  Abstinence,  my  aunt,  have  given  me 

leave;  220 

And  yet  I  have  hated  her  all  my  life-time." 
g^    Sloth  for  sorrow  fell  down  swoon- 
ing, 
Till  Vigttate,  the  watcher,  fetched  water  to 

his  eyes, 
Let  it  flow  on  his  face,  and  fast  to  him 

cried, 
And  said,  "Beware  of  despair,  that  will 

thee  betray. 

4 1  am  sorry  for  my  sins,'  say  to  thyself, 
And  beat  thyself  on  the  breast,  and  pray 

God  for  grace, 
For  there  is  no  guilt  so  great  that  His  mercy 

is  not  more." 

Then  Sloth  sat  up  and  sighed  sore, 
And  made  a  vow  before  God,  for  his  foul 

sloth,  130 

11  There  shall  be  no  Sunday  this  seven  year 

(save  sickness  it  cause) 


That  I  shall  not  bring  myself  ere  day  to 

the  dear  church, 
And  hear  matins  and  mass,  as  I  a  monk 

were. 

No  ale  after  meat  shall  withhold  me  thence, 
Till  I  have  heard  evensong,  I  promise  by 

the  rood. 
And1  yet  I  shall  yield  again  —  if  I  have  so 

much  — 

All  that  I  wickedly  won,  since  I  had  wit. 
And  though  I  lack  a  livelihood  I  will  not 

stop 
Till  each  man  shall  have  his  own,  ere  I 

hence  wend: 
And  with  the  residue  and  the  remnant,  by 

the  rood  of  Chester,  240 

I  shall  seek  Saint  Truth,  ere  I  see  Rome! " 

Robert  the  robber,  on  Reddite  2  he  looked, 

And  because  there  was  not  wherewith,  he 

wept  full  sore. 

But  yet  the  sinful  wretch  said  to  himself: 
"Christ,  that  upon  Calvary  on  the  cross 

died'st, 
Though  Dismas  8  my  brother  besought  grace 

of  thee, 

And  thou  hadst  mercy  on  that  man  for  me- 
mento* sake, 
Thy  will  be  done  upon  me,  as  I  have  well 

deserved 

To  have  hell  for  ever  if  no  hope  there  were. 
So  rue   on    me,  Robert,  that  no  counsel 

have,  250 

Nor  ever  ween  to  win  by  any  craft  that  I 

know. 

But,  for  thy  much  mercy,  mitigation  I  be- 
seech ; 
Damn  me  not  on  Doomsday  because  I  did 

so  ill." 
But  what  befell  this  felon,  I  cannot  well 

show, 
But  well  I  know  he  wept  hard,  water  with 

his  eyes, 
And  acknowledged  his  guilt  to  Christ  again 

thereafter, 
That  the  pikestaff  of  Penitence  he  should 

polish  anew, 
And  leap  with  it  o'er  the  land,  all  his  life* 

time, 

t  Ll.  236-260,  dealing  with  the  restitution  of  stolen 
goods,  appear  in  C  in  connection  with  Avarice.  The  at- 
taching of  them  to  Sloth  in  A  and  B  sterns  to  point  to 
some  confusion  In  the  text.  Note  that  In  A  the  sin  of 
Wrath  is  omitted. 

i  Make  restitution,  Raman*.  liil,  7. 

*  The  name  given  to  the  penitent  thief  In  the  apoo- 
ryphal  Qotpd  of  tficodfrmu. 

<  Remember  me,  Luke,  uill,  42. 


WILLIAM  LANGLAND 


For  he  hath  lain  by  Latro,*  Lucifer's  brother. 

A  thousand  of  men  then  throng  together, 

Weeping    and    wailing    for  their  wicked 

deeds,  261 

Crying  up  to  Christ,  and  to  His  clean  Mother, 
To  give  grace  to  seek  Saint  Truth,  God 

grant  they  so  might  1 

PASSUS  VI 

Now  ride  these  folk,  and  walk  on  foot 
To  seek  that  saint  in  strange  lands. 
But  there  were  few  men  so  wise  that  knew 

the  way  thither, 
But  they  bustled  forth  like  beasts,  over 

valleys  and  hills, 
For  while  they  went  after  their  own  will, 

they  went  all  amiss; 
Till  it  was  late  and  long,  when  they  a  man 

met, 

Apparelled  as  a  palmer,  in  pilgrim's  weeds. 
He  bore  a  staff  bound  round  with  a  broad 

list2 

In  woodbine  wise  twisted  around. 
A  bag  and  a  bowl  he  bore  by  his  side;       10 
A  hundred  vials  on  his  hat  were  set, 
Signs  of  Sinai  and  shells  of  Galicia; 
Many  a  cross  on  his  cloak,  and  the  keys  of 

Home, 
And  the  vernicle  in  front,  that  men  should 

him  know, 

And  see  by  his  signs  whom  he  had  sought.8 
These  folk  asked  him  fairly  from  whence 

he  came. 
"From  Sinai,"  he  said,   "and  from  the 

Sepulchre; 
From  Bethlehem  and  Babylon,  I  have  been 

in  both; 
In  India  and  in  Assisi,  and  in  many  other 


Ye  may  see  by  my  signs  that  sit  on  my 

hat  20 

That  I  have  walked  full  wide,  in  wet  and 

in  dry, 
And    sought    good    saints  for  my  soul's 

health." 
"Knowest  thou  a  holy  one   men    call 

Saint  Truth  ? 
Canst  thou  show  us  the  way  to  where  he 

dweUeth?" 

i  The  word  used  in  Luke  of  the  crucified  thieves. 

i  Edge  of  cloth. 

*  The  references  here  are  to  the  badges  showing  the 
shrines  a  pilgrim  had  visited  :  the  vial  or  ampulla  for 
Thomas  of  Canterbury;  the  scallop  shell  for  St.  James 
of  Compostella  in  Oalicia ;  the  cross  for  Palestine ;  the 
keys  and  the  handkerchief  of  St.  Veronica  for  Rome. 
"  Sinai "  refers  to  the  shrine  of  St.  Catharine  there. 


"Nay,  so  God   gladden  me,"  said  the 

man  then, 
"Saw  I  never  palmer,  with  pikestaff  nor 

with  scrip, 

Such  a  saint  seek,  save  now  in  this  place." 
"Peter!"   quoth   a   Plowman,   and   put 

forth  his  head, 
"I  know  him  as  naturally  as  a  scholar  doth 

his  books; 
Clean  Conscience  and  Wit  showed  me  to 

his  place,  30 

And  pledged  me  then  to  serve  him  for  ever. 
Both  in  sowing  and  in  setting,  while  I  work 

might, 

I  have  been  his  fellow  these  fifteen  winters; 
Have  both  sowed  his  seed  and  tended  his 

beasts, 
And  also  cared  for  his  corn  and  carried  it 

to  house, 

Ditched  and  delved,  and  done  what  he  or- 
dered, 

Within  and  without  watched  his  interests; 
Among  these  people  is  no  laborer  whom  he 

loves  more, 
For  though  I  say  it  myself,  my  service  him 

pleases. 
I  have  my  hire  of  him  well,  and  sometimes 

more;  40 

He  is  the  promptest  payer  that  poor  men 

have; 
He  withholds  from  no  kind  his  hire  that  he 

hath  it  not  at  even. 

He  is  as  lowly  as  a  lamb,  lovely  of  speech; 
And  if  ye  will  wit  where  he  dwelleth 
I  will  show  you  the  way  home  to  his  place." 
"Yea,  dear  Piers,"  said  these  palmers, 

and  proffered  him  hire. 
"Nay,  by  the  peril  of  my  soul,"  quoth 

Piers,  and  began  to  swear, 
"I would   not   finger  a   farthing,    for  St. 

Thomas's  shrine  ! 
Truth  would  love  me  the  less  for  a  great 

while  after ! 
But,  ye  that  wend  to  him,  this  is  the  way 

thither:  50 

Ye  must  go  through  Meekness,  both  man 

and  wife, 
Till  ye  come  to  Conscience,  that  Christ 

may  know  the  truth 
That  ye  love  him  dearer  than  the  life  in 

your  hearts, 
And  then  your  neighbors  next  in  no  wise 

injure 
Otherwise  than  thou  wouldest  that  men 

should  do  'M  thee. 


PIERS  THE  PLOUGHMAN 


So  bend  your  way  by  a  brook,  Be-obedi- 

ent-iu-speech, 

Forth  till  ye  find  a  ford  Honor-your-f atbers ; 
Wade  in  that  water,  wash  yourselves  well 

there, 

And  ye  shall  leap  the  lightlier  all  your  life- 
time. 
Soon  shalt  thou  then  see  Swear-not-but- 

thou-have-need  —  60 

And-speci ally-not  -  iu-vain  -  take-  the-name- 

of-God-Almighty. 
Then  will  ye  come  by  a  croft,  but  go  ye 

not  therein, 
The    croft  called   Covet-not-men's-cattle- 

nor-their-wives- 
Nor  -  none  -  of  -  their  -  servants  -  that  -  they  - 

might-be-hurt; 
See  thou  break  no  bough  there,  unless  it 

be  thine  own. 
Two  stocks  there  stand,  but  stay  thou  not 

there, 
They  are  called   Slay-not,   Nor-steal-not; 

strike  forth  by  them  both; 
Leave  them  on  thy  left  hand,  look  thou  not 

after  them, 

And  hold  well  thy  holy-day  ever  till  even. 
Then  shalt  thou  turn  aside  at  a  brook,  Bear- 
no-false-witness,  7o 
It  is  furnished  within  with  florins,  and  with 

many  oaths; 
See  thou  pluck  no  plant  there,  for  peril  of 

thy  soul. 
Then  shalt  thou  see  Say-sooth,  so-it-is-to- 

be-done- 
And-look-that- thou- lie-not  -  for-any-man's  - 

bidding. 
Then  shall  tliou  come  to  a  court,  clear 

as  the  sun, 

The  moat  is  of  Mercy,8urronndingthe  manor, 
And  all  the  walls  are  of  Wit  to  hold  Will 

outside; 

The  battlements  are  of  Christendom,  man- 
kind to  save, 
Buttressed 1  with  the  Belief  wherethrough 

we  must  be  saved. 

All  the  houses  are  roofed,  hall  and  cham- 
bers, 80 
With  no  lead  but  Love-as-brethren-of-one- 

mother. 
The  tower  wherein  is  Truth  is  set  above 

the  sun, 
He  may  do  with  the  darstar  whatever  he 

pleaseth. 

Lit.,   mil-mounted  with  wooden  boardings,  M  in 
ortification*. 


Death  dare  not  do  anything  that  he  for- 
biddeth. 

Grace  is  called  the  gate-guard,  a  good  man 
in  truth, 

His  man  is  called  Amend-thou,  for  many 
men  know  him; 

Tell  him  this  as  a  token,  for  truth  knows 
the  sooth: 

'  I  performed  the  penance  that  the  priest  en- 
joined me; 

I  am  sorry  for  my  sins,  and  so  shall  I  ever 
be 

When  I  think  thereon,  though  I  were  a 
pope.'  90 

Bid  Amend-thon  humble  himself  to  his  mas- 
ter once, 

To  lift  up  the  wicket  gate  that  the  way 
shut 

When  Adam  and  Eve  ate  their  bane;2 

For  he  bath  the  key  of  the  catch,  though 

the  king  sleep. 

And  if  Grace  thee  grant  to  go  in  in  this 
wise, 

Thou  shalt  see  Truth  himself  sit  in  thy 
heart. 

Then  look  that  thou  love  Him  well,  and 
His  law  hold; 

But  be  well  aware  of  Wrath,  that  wicked 
wretch, 

For  he  hath  envy  of  Him  that  in  thine 
heart  sitteth, 

And  putteth  forth  Pride  to  praise   thy- 
self. 100 

Boldness  in  thy  good  deeds  blindeth  thine 
eyes; 

And  so  art  thou  driven  out  and  the  door 
closed, 

Locked  and  fastened  to  keep  thee  there- 
out, 

Haply  a  hundred  year  ere  thou  again  en- 
ter. 

Thus  mayst  thou  lose  His  love  by  thinking 
well  of  thyself, 

But  get  it  again  by  Grace  and  by  no  gift 

else. 

And  there  are  seven  sisters  that  serve 
Truth  ever, 

And  are  porters  at  posterns  that  to  the 
place  belong. 

The  first  is  called  Abstinence,  and  Humility 
the  second, 

Charity  and  Chastity  are  two  full  choice 
maidens,  no 

Patience  and  Peace  many  people  help, 

*  B  api/lu  unruttcJ. 


WILLIAM  LANGLAND 


Largess  the  lady  leadeth  in  full  many. 
But  whoso  is  sib  to  these  sisters,  so  help  me 

God! 

Is   wonderfully  welcome   and    fairly    re- 
ceived. 

And,  but  ye  be  sib  to  some  of  these  seven, 
It  is  full  hard,  by  my  head,  any  of  you  all 
To  get  entrance  at  that  gate  unless  greater 

be  the  grace." 
"  By  Christ,"  quoth  a  cut-purse,  "  I  have 

no  kin  there  !  " 
"Nor  I,"  quoth  an  ape-warden,  "  for  aught 

that  I  know  ! " 
"Certain,"  quoth  a  waferseller,  "knew  I 

this  for  truth,  120 

I  should  go  no  foot  further,  for  any  friar's 

preaching." 
"Yes,"  quoth  Piers  the  Plowman,  and 

preached  for  their  good, 
"Mercy  is  a  maiden  there  and  hath  might 

over  all ; 

She  is  sib  to  all  sinful  men  and  her  son  also; 
And  through  the  help  of  these  two  (no 

other  hope  have  thou,) 
Thou  mightest  get  grace  there,  so  thou  go 

betimes." 

PASSUS  VII 
«  This  would  be  a  wicked  way,  unless  one 

had  a  guide 
Who  might  follow  us  each  step,  that  there 

we  may  come." 
Quoth  Perkin  the  plowman,  "  By  Peter  the 

apostle, 

I  have  a  half-acre  to  plow,  by  the  high- 
way; 
Were  it  well  plowed,  then  with  you  would 

I  wend, 
And  show  you  the  right  way,  till  ye  found 

truth." 
"That  would  be  a  long  delay,"  quoth  a 

lady  in  a  veil; 

u  What  shall  we  women  work  at  the  while?  " 
"  Some  shall  sew  sacks,  that  the  wheat  spill 

not, 
And  ye  wives  that  have  wool,  work  on  it 

fast,  10 

Spin  it  speedily,  spare  not  your  fingers, 
Unless  it  be  a  holy  day,  or  else  a  holy  eve. 
Look  out  your  linen,  and  labor  thereon 

fast; 
The  needy  and  the  naked,  take  heed  how 

they  lie, 
And  oast  on  them  clothes  against  the  cold, 

for  30  Truth  willeth; 


For  I  shall  grant  them  livelihood,  unless 

the  land  fail, 
As  long  as  I  live,  for  our  Lord  of  Heaven's 

love. 

And  ye,  lovely  ladies,  with  your  long  fin- 
gers, 
That  have  silk  and  sendal,1  sew  when  you 

have  time 
Chasubles  for  chaplains,  and  churches  to 

honor;  ao 

And  all  manner  of  men  that  by  meat  live 
Help  him  to  work  well  that  your  food  win- 

neth." 
"  By  Christ,"  quoth  a  knight  then,  "  thou 

knowest  us  best ! 
Save  one  time  truly,  thus  taught  was  I 

never ! 
But  teach  me,"  quoth  the  knight;  "if  I  can 

plow, 
I  will  help  thee  to  labor  while  my  life 

lasteth." 
"By  Saint  Peter,"  quoth  Piers,  "since 

thou  profferest  so  humbly 
I  shall  work  and  sweat  and  sow  for  us  both, 
And  also  labor  for  thy  love  all  my  lifetime, 
On  condition  that  thou  keep  Holy  Church 

and  myself  30 

From  wasters  and  wicked  men  that  would 

us  destroy. 
And  go  thou  and  hunt  hardily  hares  and 

foxes, 

Bears  and  bucks  that  break  men's  hedges, 
And  fetch  thee  home  falcons  fowls  to  kill; 
For  they  come  into  my  croft  and  crop  my 

wheat." 
Full  courteously  the  knight  conceived 

these  words; 
"By  my  power,  Piers,  I  plight  thee  my 

troth, 

To  fulfill  the  bargain,  while  I  may  stand ! " 
"  But  yet  one  point,"  quoth  Piers,  "  I  shall 

pray  thee  no  more; 
Look  thou  trouble  no  tenant,  unless  Truth 

will  assent:  40 

And  if  poor  men  proffer  you  presents  or 

gifts, 
Take  them  not ;  peradventure  you  may 

them  not  deserve  ; 
For  thou  shalt  give  them  back  again  at  one 

year's  end, 
In  a  place  of  sore  peril  that  purgatory  is 

called. 
And  beat  thou  not  thy  bondman,  the  better 

thou  shalt  speed, 

>  A  thin  silken  etufl. 


PIERS  THE  PLOUGHMAN 


53 


(And  be  thyself  true  of  tongue,  and  lying 

tales  hate;) 
Unless  it  be  wisdom  or  wit  thy  workmen  to 

chastise. 
Bevel  not   with   ribalds,   hear   not   their 

tales, 

And  especially  at  meat  such  men  eschew, 
For  they  are  the  devil's  Tale-Tellers,  I  let 

thee  understand."  so 

"  I  assent,  by  Saint  James,"  said  the  knight 

then, 
"  To  work  by  thy  word,  while  my  life  en- 

dureth." 
"And  I  shall  apparel  me,"  quoth  Perkin, 

"  in  pilgrim's  wise, 
And  wend  with  you  the  right  way,  till  ye 

Truth  find." 

He  cast  on  his  clothes,  clouted  and  mended, 
His  garters  and  his  cuffs,  to  keep  his  nails 

from  cold; 
He  hung  a  basket  on  his  back,  in  stead  of 

a  scrip ; 

A  bushel  of  bread-corn  he  bringeth  therein : 
"For  I  will  sow  it  myself,  and  then  with 

you  wend. 
For  whoso  helpeth  me  to  plow,  or  do  any 

sort  of  labor,  60 

He  shall  have,  by  our  Lord,  the  more  hire 

in  harvest, 

And  shall  make  merry  with  the  corn,  who- 
ever begrudgeth. 
And  all  kinds  of  craftsmen  that  can  live 

with  Truth, 

1  shall  find  them  their  food,  if  they  faith- 
fully live, 
Save  Jack  the  juggler,  and  Janet  of  the 

stews, 

And  Robert  the  ribald,  for  his  filthy  words. 
Truth  taught  it  me  once,  and  bade  me  tell 

it  further, 
Deleantur  de  libra,1  I  should  not  deal  with 

them, 
Holy  Church  is  bound  from  them  no  tithe 

to  take; 

Et  cum  justis  non  itcribantur  3 
They  have  escaped  by  good  luck ; 8  may 

God  amend  them  !  "  70 

Dame   Work-when-there-is-time    is  the 

name  of  Piers's  wife; 
His  daughter  is  called  Do-right-so-or-thy- 

mother-will-beat-thee ; 

i  "  Let  them  be  stricken  out  from  the  book  [of  the 
living],"  Pxalmt,  Ixix.  28. 

>  •  And  let  them  not  be  written  with  the  jut." 
Ibid. 

*  A  Thei  ben  a-tcaptd  good  thrift. 


His  son  is  called  Suffer-thy-sovereigns-to- 

have-their-will- 
And-judge- them  -not,  -  for-if-thou-do-thou- 

shalt-dearly-pay-for-it. 
"  May  God  be  with  all,  for  so  his  word 

teacheth; 
For  now  I  am  old  and  gray,  and  have  of 

my  own, 
To  penance  and  to  pilgrimage  I  will  pass 

with  these  others. 
Therefore   I   will,  ere  I  wend,  write  my 

testament. 

In  Dei  nomine,  amen.  I  make  it  myself. 
He  shall  have  my  soul  that  best  hath  de- 
served it,  So 
And  defend  it  from  the  fiend,  for  so  I  believe, 
Till  I  come  to  my  account,  as  my  creed  me 

telleth, 
To  have  release   and    remission   on    that 

rental  I  expect. 
The  church  shall  have  my  corpse,  and  keep 

my  bones; 
For  of  my  corn  and  capital  she  craveth  tl.e 

tenth. 
I  paid  her  promptly,  to  save  my  soul  from 

peril, 

She  is  bound,  I  hope,  to  bear  me  in  mind, 
And  remember  me  in  her  memory  among 

all  Christians. 
My  wife   shall  have  what  I  won  with 

truth,  and  no  more, 
And  divide  with  my  friends  and  my  dear 

children ;  90 

For  though  I  die  this  day  my  debts  are 

cleared ; 
I  bare  home  what  I  borrowed  ere  I  to  bed 

went: 
And  with  the  residue  and  the  remnant,  by 

the  rood  of  Chester  ! 

I  will  worship  therewith  Truth  in  my  life, 
And  be  his  pilgrim  at  the  plow,  for  poor 

men's  sake. 
My  plough-foot 4  shall  be  my  pikestaff  and 

push  at  the  roots, 
And  help  my  coulter  to  carve  and  close  the 

furrows." 
Now  have  Piers  and  the  pilgrims  to  the 

plow  gone, 

To  plow  this  half-acre  help  him  full  many. 
Ditchers  and  delvers  dug  up  the  ridges;6  too 
Therewith  was  Perkin  pleased,  and  praised 

them  gladly. 

«  A  plouh-pote    ( pote  =  puiber),    B  plou'-folc;    0 

plonh-ffitr,  plough-foot. 
»  Left  unplowed. 


54 


WILLIAM  LANGLAND 


Other  workmen  there  were  that  wrought 

full  many, 
Each  mau   in  his  manner  made  himself 

work; 
And  sum,  to  please  Perkin,  picked  up  the 

weeds. 
At  high  prime  1  Perkin    let  the  plough 

stand, 
While  he  himself  oversaw  who  had  bast 

wrought; 

He  should  be  hired  thereafter,  when  har- 
vest-time came. 

Then  sat  some,  and  sang  at  the  ale, 
And  helped  him  to  plow  with  "  Hey,  trolly- 
lolly!" 
"  Now,  by  the  Prince  of  Paradise,"  quoth 

Piers  then  in  wrath,  no 

"  Unless  ye  rise  the  sooner  and  haste  ye  to 

work, 
Shall  no  grain  that  here  groweth  gladden 

you  at  need, 
And  though  ye  die  for  lack  of  it,  the  devil 

take  him  that  cares  !  " 
Then  were  the  rogues  afraid  and  feigned 

themselves  blind. 

Some  laid  their  legs  across  as  such  scoun- 
drels can, 
And  complained  to  Piers,  with  such  piteous 

words: 
"  For  we  have  no  limbs  to  labor  with,  our 

Lord  we  thank  for  it; 
But  we  pray  for  you,  Piers,  and  for  your 

plow  too, 

That  God  of  his  grace  onr  grain  multiply, 
And  reward  you  for  your  alms  that  ye  give 

us  here  !  120 

For  we  may  neither  work  nor  sweat,  such 

sickness  us  aileth." 
"  If  it  be  truth  that  ye  say,"  quoth  Piers, 

"  soon  I  shall  spy  it ! 
Ye  be  wasters,  I  wot,  and  Truth  knows  the 

sooth ! 

I  am  his  old  servant,  and  ou^ht  him  to  warn 
What  wasters  in  the  world  his  workmen 

destroy. 
Ye  eat  what  they  should  eat  that  plough 

for  us  all; 

But  Truth  shall  teach  yon  his  team  to  drive, 
Bath  to  sow  and  to  set,  and  save  his  pro- 
duce, 
Scare  crows  from  his  corn,  and  keep  his 

beasts, 
Or  ye  shall  eat  barley  bread,  and  of  the 

brook  drink.  130 

i  Nine  o'clock  in  the  morning. 


But  if  they  be  blind  or  broken-shanked,  or 

bedridden  lie, 
They  shall  have  as  good  as  I,  so  help  me 

God, 

Till  God  of  his  grace  cause  them  to  arise. 
Anchorites  and  hermits  that  keep  to  their 

cells 

Shall  have  of  my  alms,  all  the  while  I  live, 
Enough  each  day  at  noon,  but  no  more  till 

tomorrow, 
Lest  the  fiend  and  their  flesh  should  defile 

their  souls; 
Once  at  noon  is  enough  for  him  that  no 

work  doeth, 
He  abides  in  better  state  that  tastes  not  too 

often." 
Then   wasters  arose,   and  would    have 

fought;  140 

To  Piers  the  Plowman  one  proffered  his 

glove, 

A  Breton,  a  braggart,  boasted  himself  also, 
And  bade  him  go  hang  with  his  plow,  bald- 
headed  wretch  f 

"  For  we  will  have  of  thy  flour,  willy  nilly, 
And  take  of  thy  meat  when  that  us  pleaseth, 
And  make  ns  merry  therewith,  spite  of  thy 

face  ! " 
Then  Piers  Plowman  complained  to  the 

knight, 
To  guard  him   as    agreed    from    cursed 

wretches, 
From  wasters  that  lie  in  wait  winners  to 

rob. 
Courteously    the    knight,    as    his    nature 

was,  150 

Warned  wasters  and  taught  them  to  do 

better; 
"  Or  ye  shall  pay  dearly  by  the  law,  by  the 

order  that  I  bear ! " 
41 1  was  not  wont  to  work,"  quoth  the  waster, 

"  I  will  not  begin  now! " 
And  recked  little  of  the  law,  and  less  of 

the  knight, 
And  counted  Piers  worth  a  pea,  and  his 

plow  too, 
And  menaced  him  and  his  men,  when  they 

should  next  meet. 
"  Now  by  the  peril  of  my  soul,"  quoth  Piers 

the  Plowman, 
"I  shall  punish  you  all  for  your  proud 

words!" 
And  whooped  after  Hunger  then,  that  heard 

him  at  once : 
"  Wreak  me  on  these  wasters,"  quoth  Piers, 

"  that  this  world  rob  I  "  160 


PIERS  THE  PLOUGHMAN 


55 


Hunger  in  haste  seized  waster  by  the  maw, 
And  wrung  him  so  by  the  belly  that  both 

his  eyes  watered, 
And    buffeted    the   Breton    on    both    his 

cheeks; 

He  looked  like  a  lantern  all  his  life  after. 
He  so  beat  the  boys  he  iiigh  burst  their 

ribs, 
Had  not  Piers  with  a  pease-loaf  prayed  him 

to  cease; 

And  with  a  bag 1  of  beans  beat  them  both, 
And  hit  Hunger  therewith  bet%veen  his  lips, 
And  he  bled  inwards  a  bowlful  of  gruel  ; 
Had  not  the  physician  first  forbidden  him 

water  170 

To  moisten  the  barley-bread  and  the  ground 

beans, 
They  had  been  dead  by  this  day,  and  buried 

all  warm. 

Then  rogues  for  fear  flew  to  barns, 
And  laid  on  with  flails,  from  morn  till  even, 
So  that  Hunger  was  not  hardy  enough  even 

to  look  up 

For  a  potf  ul  of  pease  that  Piers  had  made. 
A  band  of  hermits  seized  hold  of  spades, 
And  delved  hi  dirt  and  dung  to  drive  Hun- 
ger out. 

Blind  and  bedridden  were  cured  a  thou- 
sand, 

That  lie  as  blind  and  as  broken-legged    180 
Upon  a  warm  Sunday  by  the  highway; 
Hunger  killed  them  with  a  hot  cake. 
Lame  men's  limbs  were  rendered  lithe  that 

time, 
And  they  became  herds,  to  keep  Piers's 

beasts, 
And  prayed,   for  charity,  with  Piers  to 

dwell, 
All  for  craving  of  his  corn,  to  cast  out 

Hunger. 
Piers  was  proud  thereof,  and  put  them  in 

office, 
And  gave  them  meat  and  money,  as  they 

might  deserve. 
Then  had  Piers  pity, and  prayed  Hunger  to 

wend 
Home  to  his  own  hearth,2  and  hold  himself 

there  forever.  190 

M  And  yet  I  pray  thee,"  quoth  Piers,  "  ere 

tin. H  pass  hence, 
With  vagabonds  and  beggars  what  is  best 

to  do? 
I  wot  well,  when  thou  art  gone,  they  will 

work  full  ill; 
>  A  lat.  i  A  hurde,  earth  ;  B  erde;  0  erthe. 


It  is  misfortune  inaketh  them  to  be  now  so 

meek, 

And  for  lack  of  food  thus  fast  do  they  work; 
And  they  are  my  blood  brethren,  for  God 

bought  us  all. 
Truth  taught  me  once  to  love  them  each 

one, 
And  help  them  in  all  things,  according  as 

they  need. 
Yet  would  I  know  if  thou  kuewest  what 

were  the  best, 
And  how  I  might  master  them,  and  make 

them  work."  2oo 

"Hear  now,"  quoth  Hunger,  "and  hold  it 

for  wisdom. 
Bold  beggars  and  rascals  that  may  earn 

their  meal  by  work, 
With  hound-bread  and  horse-bread  hold  up 

their  hearts, 

And  cheat  them  with  bones  3  against  swell- 
ing of  their  bellies; 
And  if  the  fellows  grumble,  bid  them  go 

work, 
And  they  shall  sup  the  sweeter  when  they 

have  it  deserved. 
And  if  thou  find  any  fellow  that  fortune 

hath  harmed 
With  fire  or  with  false  folk,  try  such  to 

know; 
Comfort  them  with  thy  means,  for  Christ 

of  heaven's  love. 
Love  them  and  lend  to  them,  so  the  law  cf 

nature  wills.  213 

And  all  manner  of  men,  that  thou  mayest 

spy. 

That  are  needy,  or  naked,  and  nought  have 

to  spend, 
With  meat  or  with  money  make  them  fare 

the  better, 
With  word  or  with  work  while  thou  art 

here. 

Make  friends  with  such,  for  so  Saint  Mat- 
thew teacheth, 

Facile  vobis  amicos  de  mammona  iniquitatis."  * 
"I  would   not  grieve  God,"  quoth   Piers, 

"  for  all  the  gold  on  ground  ; 
Might  I  do  as  thou  sayest  without  sin?" 

said  Piers  then. 
"  Yea,  I  promise  thee,"  quoth  Hunger,  "  or 

else  the  Bible  lieth; 
Go  to  Genesis  the  giant,  the  engcnderer  of 

us  a  lie; 

»  A  bamme  hem  with  bonet ;  B  abate  him  with  benei ; 
C  Orbane  hrm  with  benet, 

4  Make  for  yourselves  friends  cf  the  mainmou  of  on* 
righttxmoueu,  Luke,  zvi,  9. 


WILLIAM  LANGLAND 


'In  sweat  and  swiuk  thou  sbalt  earn  thy 

meat,1  220 

And  labor  for  thy  livelihood,'  for  BO  our 

lord  ordered. 
And  Sapience  said  the  same,  I  saw  it  in  the 

Bible. 

'  Piger  propter  frigus,2  no  field  he  till, 
He  shall  crave  and  beg,  and  no  man  abate 

his  hunger.' 
Matthew  of  the   man's   face 8  uttereth 

these  words, 
'The  unprofitable  servant  had  a  talent,  and 

because  he  would  not  use  it 
He    had  ill-will  of  his  master  evermore 

after ' ; 

Auferte  ab  illo  unam,  et  date  illi,  etc.,* 
He  took  from  him  his  talent,  for  he  would 

not  work, 
And  gave  it  in  baste  to  him  that  had  ten 

before; 
And  afterwards  he  thus  said,  his  servants 

it  heard,  230 

'  He  tliat  hath  shall  have,  to  help  where 

need  is, 
And  he  that  hath  not,  nought  shall  have,  nor 

no  man  help  him; 
And  he  that  hopeth  to  have,  from  him  it 

shall  be  taken  away.' 
For  Common  Sense  would  that  each  man 

should  work, 
By  teaching  or  by  tillage,  or  travailing  with 

hands, 
Active  life  or  contemplative;  Christ  would 

so  also. 

For  so  saith  the  Psalter,  in  the  psalm  be- 
ginning, '  Blessed  is  everyone,' 
Labores  manum  tuarum  quia  manducabis, 

etc.5 

To  him  that  gets  his  food  here,  with  travail- 
ing in  truth, 
God  gives   his  blessing,  for  his  livelihood 

that  laboreth." 

"  Yet  I  pray  thee,"  quoth  Piers,  "for  char- 
ity, if  thou  knowest  240 
Any  leaf  of  leechcraft,  let  me  learn  it,  my 

dear. 
For  some  of  my  servants  are  sick  at  times, 

1  Genesis,  iii,  19. 

*  The  slothful  shall  not  plow  by  reason  of  the  winter, 
Proverbi,  xx,  4. 

«  "  An  allusion  to  a  common  representation  of  the 
evangelists  which  likens  Matthew  to  a  man,  Mark  to 
a  lion,  Luke  to  a  bull,  and  John  to  an  eagle."  Skeat. 

4  Take  ye  away  the  talent  from  him,  and  give  to  him, 
etc.  Matthew,  xxv,  28. 

'  For  thou  shall  eat  the  labor  of  thine  hands,  Psalms, 
czxviii,  2. 


Work  not  for  a  week,  so  acheth  their  belly." 
"  I  wot  well,"  quoth  Hunger,  "  what  sick- 
ness aileth  them; 
They  have  eaten  in  excess,  that  inaketh 

them  groan  oft. 
But  I  command  thee,"  quoth  Hunger,  "  if 

health  thou  desirest, 
That  on  no  day  thou  drink  till  thou  hast 

had  some  dinner; 
Eat  not,  I  command  thee,  till  Hunger  take 

thee 
And  send  thee  some  of  his  sauce,  the  better 

to  savor; 
Keep  some  till  supper-time,  and  sit  not  too 

long,  250 

Arise  up  ere  appetite  have  eaten  his  fill. 
Let  not  Sir  Surfeit  sit  at  thy  board; 
Love  him  not,  for  he  is  a  lecher,  and  lewd 

of  tongue, 

And  after  many  meats  his  maw  is  a-longing. 
And  if  thou  diet  thyself  thus,  I  dare  bet 

both  mine  ears 
That  Physic  shall  his  furred  hood  for  his 

food  sell, 
And  eke  his  Calabrian  6  cloak  with  buttons 

of  gold, 
And  be  fain,  by  my  faith,  his  physic  to 

leave, 

And  learn  to  labor  on  the  land,  lest  liveli- 
hood fail. 
There  are  more  liars  than  leeches,  our  Lord 

them  amend!  26o 

They  do  men  to  death  by  their  drink,  ere 

destiny  would." 
"  By  Saint  Paul,"  quoth  Piers, "  these  be 

profitable  words! 
This  is  a  lovely  lesson;  our  Lord  reward 

thee  for  it ! 
Away  now  when  thou  wilt;  be  it  well  with 

thee  ever! " 
"  I  promise  thee,"  quoth  Hunger,  "  hence 

will  I  not  wend 

Ere  I  have  dined  this  day,  and  drunk  too." 
"  I  have  no  penny,"  quoth  Piers, "  pullets  to 

buy, 
Neither  geese  nor  pigs,  but  two  green7 

cheeses. 

And  a  little  curds  and  cream,  and  un- 
leavened cake, 
And  a  loaf  of  beans  and  bran,  baked  for  my 

children.  270 

And  I  say,  by  my  soul,  I  have  no  salt  bacon, 
Nor  any  cook-boys,  by  Christ,  collops  to 

make. 
<  Trimmed  with  grey  Calabriau  fur.      '  Fresh  made. 


PIERS  THE  PLOUGHMAN 


57 


But  I  bare  onions  and  parsley,  and  many 

cabbages, 

And  eke  a  cow  and  a  calf,  and  a  cart-mare 
To  draw  a-field  my  dung,  while  the  drought 

lasteth. 
By  these  means  must  I  live  till  Lammas 

time; 
By  that  time  I  hope  to  have  harvest  in  my 

croft; 
Then  may  I  prepare  thee  dinner  as  thou 

dearly  likest  it." 

All  the  poor  people  pease-cods  fetched, 
Beans  baked  into   bread  they  brought  in 

their  laps,  280 

Little  onions   their  chief  meat,  and  ripe 

cherries  many, 
And  proffered  Piers  this  present,  to  please 

his  hunger  with. 
Hunger  ate  this  in  haste,  and  asked  after 

more. 

Then  these  folk  for  fear  fetched  him  many 
Onions  and  pease,  for  they  him  would  please ; 
After  these  were  eaten,  he  must  take  his 

leave 
Till  it  was  near  to  harvest,  when  new  corn 

came  to  market. 
Then     were   these    folk  fain,   and  fed 

Hunger  eagerly 
With  good  ale  and  gluttony,  and  caused 

him  to  sleep. 
And  then  would  not  the  waster  work,  but 

wandered  about,  290 

Nor  any  beggar  eat  bread  that  had  beans 

in  it, 
But  cocket  and  clearmatin,1  and  of  clean 

wheat; 

Nor  any  halfpenny  ale  in  any  wise  drink, 
But  of  the  best  and  the  brownest  that  brew- 
ers sell. 
Laborers  that  have  no  land  to  live  by, 

but  only  thi-ir  hands, 
Deign  not  to  dine   today  on  yesterday's 

vegetables. 
No  penny-ale  may  please  them,  nor  a  piece 

of  bacon, 

Unless  it  were  fresh  flesh,  or  else  fried  fish, 
Hot  and  very  hot,  lest  they  chill  their 

stomachs. 
Unless  he  be  hired  at  a  high  price,  he  will 

surely  chide,  300 

Call  curses  on  the  time  that  he  was  made 

a  workman, 
And  curse  the  king  hard,  and  all  his  council 

after 

>  Kinds  of  fine  bread. 


For  enforcing  such  laws  as  chastise  la- 
borers. 

But  while  Hunger  was  master  here  there 
would  none  chide 

Nor  strive   against  the  statutes,  so  stern 

they  looked. 

I  warn  you  all,  workmen,  win  while  ye 
may; 

Hunger  hitherward  again  hieth  him  in  haste. 

He   will    awake    with    high-waters a    the 
wasters  all; 

Ere  five  years  are  fulfilled,  such  famine  shall 
arise, 

Through  floods  and  foul  weather  fruits  shall 
fail ;  3 10 

And  so  saith  Saturn,  and  sendeth  us  warning. 

PASSUS  VIII 

Truth  heard  tell  hereof,  and  to  Piers  sent 
To  take  his  team,  and  till  the  earth; 
And  purchased  him  a  pardon  a  poena  et  a 

culpa,8 
For  him  and  for  his  heirs,  for  evermore 

after. 
And  bade  him  stay  at  home,  and  plow  his 

leas, 
And  all  that  ever  helped  him,  to  plow  or  to 

sow, 

Or  any  kind  of  task  that  might  Piers  help, 

Part  in  that  pardon  the  Pope  bath  granted. 

Kings   and    knights    that   guard    Holy 

Church, 
And  rightfully  rule    the  realm  and  the 

people,  10 

Have  pardon  through   Purgatory  to  pass 

full  soon, 

With  patriarchs  in  Paradise  to  play  there- 
after. 
Bishops  that  bless,  and  both  the  laws* 

know, 
Look  on  the  one  law  and  teach  men  the 

other, 
And  bear  them  both  on  their  backs,  as  their 

banner  showeth, 

And  preach  to  their  parsons  the  peril  of  sin, 
How  their  scabbed  sheep  shall  their  wool 

save, 
Have  pardon  with  the  Apostles  when  they 

pass  hence, 
And  at  the  Day  of  Doom  with  them  on  dal's 

sit. 
Merchants,  in    the   margin,  had    many 

years'  remission,  10 

•  Floods.  *  From  punishment  and  guilt. 

*  Duty  to  God  and  duty  to  man. 


WILLIAM  LANGLAND 


But  not  a  poena  et  a  culpa  would  the  Pope 

them  grant. 
Because  they  hold  not  their  holy-day  as 

Holy  Church  teacheth, 
And  because  they  swore  by  their  souls  — 

" so  help  them  God  !"  — 
Against  their  clean  conscience,  their  goods 

to  sell. 
But  under  his  secret  seal  Truth  sent  a 

letter, 
And  bade  them  buy  boldly  what  they  liked 

best, 

And  then  sell  it  again,  and  save  the  win- 
ning, 
And  make  maison-dieux1  therewith,  the  sick 

to  help, 

And  wicked  customs  vigorously  amend; 
Build  again  bridges  that  broken  were,      30 
Help  to  marry  maidens  or  make  them  nuns; 
Poor  widows  that  would  not  be  wives  again, 
Find  such  their  food,  for  love  of  God  of 

heaven ; 
Let  scholars  to  school,  or  to  some  other 

craft, 

Assist2  religion,  and  endow  it  better; 
"  And  I  shall  send  you  myself  Saint  Michael, 

my  angel, 
That  no  devil  shall  harm  yon,  when  you  shall 

die, 
And  hinder  me  from  sending  your  souls  safe 

into  heaven, 
And  before  the  face  of  my  father  prepare 

your  seats. 

Usury  and  avarice  and  oaths  I  forbid,      40 
That  no  guile  go  with  you,  but  the  grace  of 

truth." 
Then  were  merchants  merry,  they  wept 

for  joy, 
And    give  Will    for   his  writing   woolen 

clothes; 
Because  he  copied  thus  their  clause,  they 

gave  him  great  thanks. 
Men  of  law  had  least,  for  they  are  loath 
To  plead  for  mean  men,  unless  they  get 

money ; 

So  saith  the  Psalter  and  Sapience  also. 
Super  innocentes  munera  non  accipiunt.    A 

regibus    et    principibus   erit    merces 

eorum.8 
From  princes  and  prelates   their  pension 

should  come, 
And  from  the  poor  people  no  pennyworth 

should  they  take. 

i  Hospitals.  »  A  Rule;  B  C  Eeleue. 

*  Psalms,  xv,  9. 


But  he   that  speudeth  his   speech,  and 

speaketh  for  the  poor  man,  50 

Who  is  innocent  and  needy,  and  no  man 

hath  harmed, 
That  comforteth  him  in  misfortune,  covet- 

eth  not  his  goods, 
But,  for   our  Lord's    love,  law  for  him 

showeth, 
No  devil,  at  his  death-day,  shall  harm  him 

a  mite, 
That  he    be  not  secure  and   safe;  and  so 

saith  the  Psalter. 

Quifacit  haec,  non  movebitur  in  eternum.* 
But  to  buy  water,  or  wind,  or  wit  (the  third 

thing), 
Holy  Writ  would  never  grant,  God  knows 

the  truth! 
These  three  as  thralls  have  grown  among 

us  all, 

To  wax  or  to  wane,  whichever  God  liketh. 
His  pardon  in  purgatory  is  petty,  I  trow,  60 
Who  any  pay  from  poor  men  for  pleading 

receiveth. 
Ye  lawmakers   and  lawyers,  ye  know 

whether  I  lie; 

Since  ye  see  that  it  is  so,  serve  at  your  best. 
Living  laborers,  that  live  by  their  hands, 
That  truly  give  and  truly  pay  their  tithes 
And  live  in  love  and  in  law  for  their  lowly 

hearts, 
Had  the  same  absolution  that  sent  was  to 

Piers. 

Askers  and  beggars  are  not  in  the  bull, 
Unless  the  suggestion  be  sound  that  causes 

them  to  beg. 
For  he  that  beggeth  or  asketh,  unless  he 

have  need,  70 

He  is  false  as  the  fiend,  and  clef raudeth  the 

needy, 
And  also  beguileth  the  giver,  all  against  his 

will. 

They  live  not  in  love,  nor  any  law  keep; 
They  wed  no  women  that  they  have  to  do 

with; 

But  as  wild  beasts  wickedly  work  together, 
And  bring  forth  bairns  that  bastards  are 

held. 
Either  their  backs  or  their  bones    they 

break  in  their  youth, 

And  go  begging  with  their  children  ever- 
more after. 
There  are  more  misshapen  among  them, 

whoso  takes  heed, 

*  He  that  doe th  these  things  shall  never  be  movedf 
Psalms,  xv:  5. 


PIERS  THE  PLOUGHMAN 


59 


Than  of  all  other  men  that  in  the  world 

wander.  80 

Thpy  that  live  their  life  thus  may  loath  the 

time 
That  ever  they  were  created  men,  when 

they  shall  hence  fare. 
But  old  men  and  hoary,  that  helpless  are 

in  strength, 

And  women  with  child,  that  cannot  work, 
The  blind  and  bedridden,  with  broken  limbs, 
That  take  sickness  meekly,  like  lepers  and 

others, 

Have  as  full  pardon  as  the  Plowman  him- 
self; 
For  love  of  their  humble  hearts  our  Lord 

hath  them  granted 
Their  penance  and  their  purgatory  to  have 

here  upon  earth. 

"  Piers,"  quoth  a  priest  then,  "  thy  par- 
don must  I  read,  90 
For  I  will  construe  every  clause,  and  know 

it  in  English." 
And  Piers,  at  his  prayer,  the  pardon  un- 

foldetb, 
And  I,  behind  them  both,  beheld  all  the 

bull. 

In  two  lines  it  lay,  and  not  a  letter  more, 
And  was  written  right  thus,  in  witness  of 

truth: 

Et  qui  bona  egerunt,  ibunt  in  viam  eternam; 
Qui  vero  mala,  in  ignem  eternum.1 
"  Peter! "  quoth  the  priest  then,  "I  can  no 

pardon  find, 
But '  Do  well  and  have  well,  and  God  shall 

have  thy  soul; 
And  do  evil  and  have  evil,  hope  thou  none 

other 
But  that  after  thy  death-day  to  hell  shalt 

thou  wend!'" 
And  Piers,  for  pure  vexation,  pulled  it 

asunder,  100 

And  then  he  said  to  them  these  seemly 

sayings: 
"  Si  ambulavero  in  media  umbrae  mortis,  nan 

timebo  mala,  quoniam  tu  meaim  ex? 
I  shall  cease  from  my  sowing,"  said  Piers, 

"  and  work  not  so  hard, 
Nor  about  my  livelihood  so  busy  be  more! 
In  prayer  and  in  penance  my  plowing  shall 

be  hereafter, 

'  And  those  who  did  good  nhalt  go  Into  eternal  life ; 
but  who  did  evil,  into  eternal  fire.  Cf.  Matthew,  XXT, 
46. 

«  Though  I  walk  through  the  valley  of  the  shadow 
of  death,  I  will  fear  DO  evil ;  for  thou  art  with  me, 
Ptalmt,  xxiii,  4. 


And  lower  where  I  laughed,  ere  my  life  fail. 
The  prophet  his  bread  ate  in  penance  and 

weeping; 
As  the   Psalter  says  to  us,  so  did  many 

others; 
Who  loveth  God  loyally,  his  livelihood  is 

plentiful: 
Fuerunt  mihi  lacrimae  meae  panes,  die  ac 

nocte.8 

And,  unless  Luke  lies,  he  teacheth  us  an- 
other, 
That  too  busy  we  should  not  be,  here  npon 

earth,  no 

While  we  dwell  in  this  world,  to  make  glad 

the  belly. 

Ne  soliciti  sitis,*  he  saith  in  his  gospel, 
And  showeth  it  by  example  our  souls  to 

guide. 
The  fowls  in  the  firmament,  who  feedeth 

them  in  winter  ? 

When  the  frost  freezeth,  food  they  require; 
They  have  no  granary  to  go  to,  yet  God 

gives  them  all. 
"  What  ?  "  quoth  the  priest  to  Perkin,  "by 

Peter!  as  methinketh, 
Thou  art  lettered  a  little;  who  taught  thee 

to  read  ?  " 
"Abstinence  the  abbess  mine  ABC  me 

taught, 
And  Conscience  came  after  and  showed  me 

better."  ii0 

"Were  thou   a  priest,"  quoth  he,  "thou 

mightest  preach  when  thou  couldst; 
1  Quoniam  literaturam  non  cognovij  6  might 

be  thy  theme! " 
"Lewd  losel!"  quoth  he,  "little  lookest 

thou  on  the  Bible, 

Solomon's  sayings  seldom  thou  beholdest; 
'  Sling  away  these  scorners,'he  saith, '  with 

their  vile  scolding, 

For  with  them  readily  I  care  not  to  rest;' 
Ejice  derisores  etjurgia  cum  eis,  ne  crescant"* 
The  priest  and  Perkin  then  disputed  to- 
gether, 
And   through  their  words  I  awoke,  and 

waited  about, 
And  saw  the  sun  in  the  south  just  at  that 

time.  129 

Meatless  and  moneyless  on  Malvern  hills, 
Musing  on  this  dream,  a  mile  length  I  went. 

'  My  tean   have  been  my   meat  day  and  night, 
Pialmi,  xlU,  3. 

<  Be  not  anxious,  etc.,  Matthew,  vl,  25. 
>  For  I  have  known  no  learning,  Ptalmt,  Izzl,  15 


(Vulgate). 
•  Pr 


'roverbi,  zxii,  10  (translated  In  previous  lines). 


6o 


WILLIAM  LANGLAND 


Many  a  time  this  dream  has  made  me  to 

study 

For  love  of  Piers  the  Plowman,  full  pen- 
sive in  my  heart; 
For  it  I  saw  sleeping,  if  such  a  thing  might 

be. 

But  Cato  construeth  it  nay,  and  the  canon- 
lawyers  too, 

And  say  themselves,  "  Sornnia  ne  cures." 1 
But  as  for  the  Bible,  bear  witness  how 
Daniel  divined  the  dreams  of  a  king, 
Whom  Nebuchadnezzar2  these  clerks  name. 
Daniel  said,  "  Sir  King,  thy  dream  means 
That  strange  knights  shall  come  thy  king- 
dom to  claim;  141 
Among  lower  lords  thy  land  shall  be  di- 
vided." 

As  Daniel  divined,  it  fell  out  indeed  after, 
The  king  lost  his  lordship,  and  lesser  men 

it  had. 

And  Joseph  dreamed  dreams,  full  mar- 
velous also, 

How  the  sun  and  the  moon  and  eleven  stars 
Fell  before  his  feet  and  saluted  him  all. 
"Beaujils,"  quoth  his  father,  "for  famine 

we  shall, 

I  myself  and  my  sons,  seek  thee  in  need." 
It  fell  out  as  the  father  said,  in  Pharaoh's 
time,  150 

Where  Joseph  was  justice,  Egypt  to  keep. 

All  this  maketh  me  on  dreams  to  think 
Many  a  time  at  midnight,  when  men  should 

sleep, 
On  Piers  the  plowman,  and  what  sort  of 

pardon  he  had, 
And  how  the  priest  impugned  it,  all  by  pure 

reason, 

And  divined  that  Do-well  surpassed  an  in- 
dulgence, 

Bienals  and  trienals8  and  bishops'  letters. 
Do-well  on  doomsday  is  worthily  praised, 
He  surpasseth  all  the  pardons  of  St.  Peter's 

church. 

Now  hath  the  Pope  power  pardon  to  grant, 

The  people  without  penance  to  pass  into 

joy.  161 

i  Take  no  heed  of  dreams,  Dionysius  Cato,  Distich, 
ii,  31. 

i  Really  Belshazzar,  as  Skeat  shows.  Daniel,  v,  28. 
*  Masaes  for  the  dead  said  for  two  and  three  years. 


This  is  a  part  of  our  belief  as  learned  men 

teach  us, 

Quodcunqne  ligaveris  super  terram,   erit 
ligatum  et  in  coelis.* 

And  so  believe  I  loyally  (our  Lord  forbid  I 
should  other) 

That  pardon  and  penance  and  prayers  do 
save 

Souls  that  have  sinned  seven  times  deadly. 

But  to  trust  to  trienals  truly  methiiiketh 

Is  not  so  secure  for  the  soul,  certes,  as  Do- 
well. 

Therefore  I  counsel  you  men  that  are  rich 
on  earth, 

Trusting  by  your  treasure  trienals  to  have, 

Be  ye  none  the  bolder  to  break  the  ten  com- 
mandments. 170 
And  especially  ye  mayors,  and  ye  master 
judges, 

That  have  the  wealth  of  this  world,  and  fop 
wise  men  are  held, 

To  purchase  pardon  and  the  Pope's  bulls, 

At  the  dreadful  day  of  doom,  when  the  dead 
shall  arise 

And  come  all  before  Christ,  and  accounts 
yield 

How  thou  leddest  thy  life,  and  his  law  kept- 
est, 

What  thou  didst  day  by  day,  the  doom  will 
rehearse ; 

A  pouchf  ul  of  pardon  there,  with  provincial 
letters, 

Though  thou  be  found  in  fraternity  among 
the  four  orders, 

And  have  indulgence  doubled,  unless  Do- 
well  thee  help,  180 

I  would  not  give  for  thy  pardon  one  pie-heel ! 

Therefore  I  counsel  all  Christians  to  cry 
Christ  mercy, 

And  Mary  his  mother  to  be  their  intercessor, 

That  God  give  us  grace,  ere  we  go  hence, 

Such  works  to  work,  while  we  are  here, 

That  after  our  death-day,  Do-well  rehearse, 

At  the  day  of  doom,  that  we  did  as  he  us 
told. 

Explicit  hie  Visio  Willelmi  de  Petro  de 
Ploughman. 

•  Wr-tt  things  soever  ye  shall  bind  on  earth  shall  be 
bound  in  heaven,  Matthew,  xviii,  18. 


iS™*  FACILITY 


A          "••<  "•«  mi  ill ii  iiiil  inn  in 


